'5   i'5.\l 


^  PRINCETON,  N.  J.  ^ 

Presented    by     A  ,  G  .  Ccx-me-roin,  P^  JJ  • 

BR  50  .H64  1847  ' 

Hopkins,  Mark,  1802-1887. 
Miscellaneous  essays  and 
discourses 


MISCELLANEO  V^is^^ 


ESSAYS  AND  DISCOURSES, 


MARK   HOPKINS,    D.  D., 


PRESIDENT    OF    WILLIAMS    COLLEGE. 


BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED    BY    T.    R.    MARVIN, 

No.  24  Congress  Street. 
1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847, 

By  T.  R.  Marvin, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  author  of  the  following  pieces  desires  to 
say  that  they  are  not  published  in  this  form  at  his 
suggestion,  or  for  his  benefit.  They  are  all  either 
discourses  or  lectures  prepared  for  specific  occasions, 
and  not  originally  intended  for  the  press  ;  and  he 
would  not  himself  have  so  far  presumed  on  their 
permanent  interest  as  to  hazard  their  republication. 
He  has  consented  to  add  a  single  discourse  not 
previously  published  ;  the  others  appear  as  before. 

Imperfect  as  he  is  conscious  they  are,  he  yet 
hopes  they  may  be  acceptable  to  personal  friends  ; 
and  it  will  certainly  be  a  source  of  gratification  to 
him,  and  a  ground  of  gratitude,  if  they  shall  be 
found  to  add  any  thing  to  the  literature  of  the 
country,  or  shall  do  any  thing  for  the  promotion  of 
truth  and  goodness. 

May  27,   1847. 


CONTENTS. 


TACK 

On  Mystery,     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  9 

[First  published  in  the  American  Journal  of  Science  and  Arts,  April,  1828. J 

On  the  Argument  from  Nature  for  the  Divine  Existence,    IB 

[American  Quarterly  Observer,  Oct.  1833.] 

On  Human  Happiness,  .....         46 

[American  Quarterly  Observer,  Oct.  1834.] 

On  Originality,  ......        81 

[Biblical  Repository,  Oct.  1835.] 

Connection  between  Taste  and  Morals  :  Lecture  I.,      .       101 

Lecture  H.,    .       126 

Address,  delivered  before  the  Porter  Rhetorical  Society  of  the 

Theological  Seminary,  Andover,  Sept.  5,  1837,       .  .       147 

Address,  delivered  at  the  twenty-fourth  Anniversary  of  the 

American  Bible  Society,  May  14, 1840,      .  170 

Address,  delivered  in  South  Hadley,  Ms.,  at  the  Third  Anni- 
versary of  the  Mount  Holyoke  Female  Seminary,  July  30, 
1840, 177 

Address,  delivered  before  the  Medical  Class  at  Pittsfield,  Nov. 

4,  1840, 197 

Address,  delivered  at  the  dedication  of  Williston  Seminary,  at 
^       East  Hampton,  Ms.,  Dec.  1,  1841,  .            .            .            .214 
J    Ikaugural  Discourse,  delivered  at  Williams  College,  Sept. 
^—     15,  1836, 232 

Address,  delivered  before  the  Society  of  Alumni  of  Williams 
College,  at  the  Celebration  of  the  Semi-Centennial  Amii- 
versary,  Aug.  16,  1843,        .  .  .  .  .256 

Sermon,  occasioned  by  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Edward  Dorr 
Griffin,  D.  D.,  delivered  in  the  Chapel  of  Williams  College, 
Nov.  26,  1837, 288 


VI 

PAGE 

Sermon,  occasioned  by  the  doutli  of  Prof.  Ebenezer  Kellogg, 
delivered  in  the  Cliiirch  in  Williamstown,  on  Sabbath 
Afternoon,  Oct.  11,  1846,    .  .  .  .  .311 

Sermon,  delivered   before   His    Excellency    Edward    Everett, 
Governor,  His  Honor  George  Hull,  Lieutenant  Governor, 
tlie  Honorable  Council,  and  the  Legislature  of  Massachu- 
setts, on  the  Anniversary  Election,  Jan.  2,  1839,    .  .      332 
Sermon,  delivered  before  the  Pastoral  Association  of  Massa- 
chusetts, in  Park  Street  Church,  Boston,  May  30,  1843,     .      356 
Sermon,  delivered  at  Pittsfield,  on  the  occasion  of  the  Berk- 
shire Jubilee,  Aug.  22,  1844,           .             •            .  .379 
Sermon,  preached  before  the  Annual  Convention  of  the  Con- 
gregational Ministers  of  INIassachusetts,  in  Boston,  May 

29,  1845, 405 

(^  Sermon,  before  the  American  Board  of  Commissioners  for 
Foreign  Missions,  at  the  Thirty- Sixth  Annual  Meeting, 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  September,  1845,  .  .  .430 

(  Sermon,  delivered  at  Plymouth,  at  the   Anniversary  of  the 

Landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  Dec.  22,  1846,      .  .  .458 

(^Sermon,  delivered  before  the  American  and  Foreign  Sabbath 

Union,  May,  1847,  .  .  .  .  .489 


ESSAYS 


AND 


DISCOURSES. 


MISCELLANIES. 


ON  MYSTERY. 

We  may  well  suppose  that  the  first  feeling  of  Adam 
was  a  feeling  of  mystery.  With  the  conviction,  elemen- 
tary in  every  mind,  that  there  can  be  no  effect  without  a 
cause ;  with  the  consciousness  of  his  own  inexplicable 
being  ;  creation,  in  its  original  brightness,  bursting  at  once 
upon  his  view,  and  indicating  itself  through  all  his 
senses ;  he  must  have  felt  that  mystery  enveloped  himself 
and  all  that  he  beheld.     Accordingly, 

"  As  new  waked  from  soundest  sleep,"  said  he, 
"  Soft  on  the  flowery  bank  I  found  me  laid, 
Straight  toward  heaven  my  wandering  eyes  I  turned. 
And  gazed  awhile  the  ample  sky. 
Thou  sun,  said  I,  fair  light, 
And  thou  enlightened  earth,  so  fresh  and  gay, 
And  ye  that  live  and  move,  fair  creatures,  tell. 
Tell,  if  ye  saw,  how  came  I  thus,  how  here." 

That  was  a  sublime  moment — such  an  one  as  none  of 
his  descendants,  under  the  deadening  influence  of  the 
familiarity  attendant  on  gradual  perception,  can  ever 
enjoy.  But  his  descendants  have  shared  largely  of  the 
emotion ;  and  who  of  us,  as  we  too  have  gazed  the 
bright  earth,  and  the  ample  sky,  has  not  found  himself 
insensibly  falling  into  this  original  feeling,  and  one 
2 


10 

bewildering  sense  of  the  mystery  of  being  and  its  phe- 
nomena engross  his  soul  ?  But  it  is  not  only  in  these 
moments  of  higher  and  intenser  feeling  that  it  arises  ; 
life  is  full  of  it,  and  to  a  thoughtful  mind,  it  is  constantly 
springing  up. 

The  philosophy  of  our  emotions  consists  in  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  occasions  on  which  they  arise  ;  and  as  the 
exertion  of  great  power  is  essential  to  the  sublime,  and 
slight  incongruities  to  the  ridiculous,  so  there  must  be 
somewhat  in  mysterious  facts  which  renders  them  myste- 
rious. To  ascertain  what  this  is,  and  how  far  mystery 
can  be  solved,  will  be  the  objects  of  the  present  inquiry. 
Some  remarks  will  also  be  made  on  the  nature,  extent, 
and  practical  bearing  of  the  emotion. 

I  shall  first  speak  of  the  mystery  of  particular  facts, 
and  of  the  solution  which  it  is  ordinarily  supposed  to 
admit ;  and  then  of  the  mystery  of  general  laws.  To 
discover  the  true  foundation  of  this  emotion,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  distinguish  it  from  ignorance,  with  which  it  is 
often  confounded.  Mystery  does  indeed  imply  ignorance, 
and  in  the  removal  of  both,  the  principle  of  curiosity  is 
involved  ;  but  there  may  be  ignorance  without  mystery. 
In  an  ignorance  of  any  disconnected  fact,  or  class  of  facts, 
as  of  topography,  or  chronology,  there  is  and  can  be  no 
mystery.  One  may  be  ignorant  of  the  year  in  which  the 
battle  of  Actium  was  fought,  and  unable  to  ascertain  it ; 
but  it  is  simple  ignorance,  there  is  no  mystery  about  it ; 
it  may  have  happened,  and  no  reason  can  be  given 
why  it  should  not  have  happened,  in  one  year  as  well  as 
in  another.  One  may  be  ignorant  whether  Actium  was 
in  Europe  or  in  Asia ;  but  he  has  only  to  consult  authori- 
ties and  his  curiosity  is  satisfied,  but  no  mystery  is 
solved. 

Further,  though  there  be  a  connection  between  facts, 
yet  if  the  rule  by  which  their  cause  operates  be  entii'ely 
unknown,  there  can  be  no  mystery.     This  is  the  case  in 


11 

the  blowing  of  winds,  and  for  the  most  part  in  human 
conduct ;  which  last,  however,  is  so  much  governed  by 
known  principles,  that  it  may  become  mysterious  when 
conduct  runs  greatly  counter  to  its  ordinary  course. 

I  am  now  prepared  to  observe,  first,  that  those  events 
are  mysterious  which  apparently  conflict  with  a  general 
law  previously  known,  or  with  a  theory,  which,  as  a 
ground  of  reference,  is  equivalent  to  a  general  law  ;  or 
in  other  words,  that  mystery  lies  in  the  apparent  contra- 
diction between  particular  facts  and.  general  principles, 
where  we  conceive  that  there  ought  to  be  agreement ; 
and  secondly,  that  the  only  solution  of  which  mystery 
admits,  is  a  discovery  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
mysterious  fact  conforms  to  the  general  law.  These 
positions  I  proceed  to  illustrate. 

For  those  facts  which  can  be  referred  to  a  general  law, 
a  reason  can  be  given,  and  they  are  not  generally  deemed 
mysterious.  If  we  inquire  the  cause  of  sound,  we  are 
referred  to  vibrations,  and  our  inquiry  is  satisfied.  It  is  a 
general  law  that  vibrations  produce  sound.  If  we  inquire 
why  heavy  bodies  descend,  we  are,  in  the  same  manner, 
satisfied  by  a  reference  to  gravitation.  But  let  a  fact 
conflict  with  the  general  law, — let  vibration  come  to  an 
organ  seemingly  perfect,  and  no  sound  be  produced  ;  let  a 
stone  thrown  into  the  air  remain  suspended, — and  there  is 
a  mystery  at  once  ;  there  are  curiosity  and  wonder 
blended  together,  and  these  form  mystery,  as  expectation 
and  desire  form  hope. 

But  to  mention  instances  which  actually  occur.  We 
are  informed  that  the  north  star  has  no  actual  motion  ; 
we  observe  that  it  has  no  apparent  motion  ;  but  since  the 
earth  moves,  this  fact  is  mysterious,  till  we  learn  the 
effect  of  distance  in  destroying  parallax ;  then  the  mys- 
tery vanishes.  On  first  learning  the  tendency  of  all 
matter  to  all  matter,  the  ascent  of  smoke  and  light  bodies 
is  an  apparent  exception,  and  a  mystery  to  him  who  is 


12 

unacquainted  with  the  weight  of  the  atmosphere  ;  but 
when  this  fact  is  known,  the  mystery  is  solved,  and  the 
general  law  confirmed.  Again  :  a  pendulum  of  given 
length  vibrates  seconds  at  the  equator.  It  is  found  that  a 
longer  one  is  required  at  the  poles.  This  is  a  mystery 
till  it  is  ascertained  that  the  earth  is  a  spheroid  flattened 
at  the  poles,  and  then  the  mystery  is  solved.  Such 
apparent  exceptions  to  her  general  laws  are  the  mysteries 
which  nature  presents,  and  which  it  is  the  business  and 
delight  of  philosophers  thus  to  solve,  by  showing  their 
conformity  to  the  general  law. 

In  the  origin  and  growth  of  a  new  science  the  general 
principle  is  the  same,  though  somewhat  modified.  Sup- 
pose we  have  hitherto  known  of  motion  only  as  commu- 
nicated by  impulse  and  gravitation, — by  accident  a  magnet 
is  applied  to  a  piece  of  iron,  and  the  iron  approaches  it. 
It  is  mysterious.  Experiments  are  performed,  and  a  bar 
of  iron  magnetized  and  balanced  on  a  pivot,  is  found  to 
point  invariably  north  and  south.  This  is  another  mys- 
tery. These  facts  are  published,  and  philosophers  over 
the  world  are  in  commotion.  Experiments,  dissertations, 
and  treatises  succeed,  till  the  facts  are  all  ascertained,  a 
science  formed,  and  a  name  given  to  it.  And  now,  if  we 
are  asked  why  the  iron  approaches  the  magnet,  we  say 
that  it  is  by  the  influence  of  magnetism,  and  the  mystery 
is  solved.  This  sketch  applies  with  perfect  truth  to  the 
formation  and  growth  of  every  physical  science.  If  the 
facts  can  be  reduced  to  no  order,  as  was  long  the  case  in 
astronomy,  no  science  is  formed,  and  philosophers  con- 
tinue to  observe,  form  theories,  and  make  experiments  till 
they  eflect  it.  If  they  succeed  in  some  measure,  as  in 
electricity,  but  many  facts  still  remain  anomalous,  the 
science  is  imperfect.  If  no  anomalous  fact  remain,  as  in 
astronomy,  the  science  is  perfect.  What  the  facts  are, 
and  the  manner  in  which  they  conform  to  the  general 
law,  is  all  philosophy  can  know,  all  it  can  teach.     Thus 


13 

physical  science  is  but  a  history  of  facts  which  take 
place  in  a  certain  determinate  order,  and  diti'ers  from 
other  history  in  nothing  but  the  assurance  which  it  brings 
with  it,  that  in  this,  past  and  future  experience  will  inva- 
riably accord. 

In  theology  and  morals,  our  theory,  or  the  obvious  dic- 
tates of  the  luiderstanding,  are  in  place  of  the  general 
law  ;  and  facts  that  conflict  with  these,  are  mysterious. 

Our  whole  nature  leads  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
object  of  God  in  his  creation  and  government,  must  be 
happiness.  The  extent  to  which  evil  and  misery  prevail, 
is  a  mystery.  When  we  shall  see  the  bearing  of  all  this 
on  the  general  and  greatest  good,  then  will  this  mystery 
be  "  finished."  Our  practical  feelings  tell  us  that  we  are 
free  and  accountable  agents  ;  but  the  possibility  of  this 
is  to  some  minds  a  mystery.  Upon  them  the  conviction 
of  the  contrary  comes  with  all  the  force  of  a  demon- 
stration ;  drives  out  the  belief,  if  not  the  sense  of  guilt ; 
destroys  the  force  of  motives  ;  and  in  the  fierce  struggle 
of  feeling  and  conviction,  prostrates  the  best  powers  of 
the  man.  This  mystery  would  be  solved,  by  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  manner  in  which  motives  act  upon  us.  Of 
this  kind  are  most  of  the  mysteries  mentioned  in  the 
Scriptures.  '  That  you  may  understand,'  says  St.  Paul, 
'  my  knowledge  in  the  mystery  of  Christ,  that  the  Gen- 
tiles should  be  fellow-heirs,  and  partakers  of  the  promise.' 
To  a  Jew,  whose  conviction  it  had  been  from  childhood, 
that  the  Gentiles  were  to  be  excluded,  their  reception  was 
a  mystery. 

It  is  obvious  from  the  above,  that  facts  may,  in  this 
sense  of  it,  be  mysterious  to  one  person  and  not  to 
another ;  may  be  so  to  ourselves  at  one  stage  of  our 
inquiries,  and  not  at  another.  Anomalous  facts  are  dis- 
tressing to  a  well  constituted  and  philosophic  mind,  and 
few  pleasures  are  greater  than  the  unexpected  reconcile- 
ment of  a  perplexing  phenomenon  with  our  theory ;  or, 


14 

what  is  the  same  thing  if  our  theory  be  true,  with  the 
general  rule.  But  when,  by  an  induction  of  particulars, 
we  infer  the  law  itself,  as  did  Newton  that  of  gravitation, 
it  is  a  discovery  in  the  highest  sense,  and  no  earthly 
pleasure  is  more  sublime.  It  is  no  wonder  that  his  frame 
trembled,  as  the  mystery  that  had  brooded  over  a  chaos  of 
facts  was  solved  at  once,  and  that  he  relinquished  to 
another  the  details  of  the  calculation. 

But  could  all  facts  be  thus  reduced,  and  every  science, 
in  the  sense  above  mentioned,  become  perfect,  would 
mystery  cease,  and  our  knowledge  become  perfect  ?  To 
all  practical  purposes  it  would.  Nature  is  uniform,  and 
we  have  the  most  entire  conviction  that  as  she  is  to-day, 
she  will  continue  till  her  dissolution.  If  then  we  knew 
perfectly  the  laws  by  which  her  sequences  are  regulated, 
facts  would  become  emphatically  of  the  nature  of  lan- 
guage, announcing  what  was  to  come.  It  would  enable 
us  to  exercise  far  more  perfectly  the  high  prerogative  of 
man,  as  the  interpreter  of  nature,  and  to  consult  more 
surely  for  our  happiness  as  prophets  of  future  events.  It 
would  confer  upon  us  the  nil  adniirari  of  the  wise  man, 
and  nothing  could  surprise  us.  Humble  as  it  may  appear, 
it  is  the  only  true  and  practical  knowledge,  and  if  we 
think  of  attaining  farther,  we  are  ignorant  of  our  powers 
and  pursue  a  phantom. 

But  the  human  mind  does  not  rest  at  this  point.  Men 
of  every  age  have  felt,  as  we  do,  that  there  was  a  higher 
and  deeper  mystery  beyond,  and  asked  after  the  mys- 
terious power  which  carried  the  general  law  into  eftect. 
To  the  mystery  of  general  laws,  therefore,  we  now 
proceed.  I  have  before  alluded  to  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of  conception  by  which  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  an 
effect  without  a  cause,  and  by  which  Adam  was  suscepti- 
ble of  the  emotion  of  mystery ;  and  it  is  by  the  operation 
of  this  that  we  feel  the  mystery  of  general  laws.  A  per- 
manent and  universal  tendency  is  obvious,  but  the  cause 


15 

is  concealed.  To  solve  the  mystery  of  these,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  find  some  cause  still  more  general,  to  which  they 
may  all  be  referred.  With  regard  to  such  a  cause  various 
hypotheses  have  been  formed,  all  of  which  however  are 
entirely  unsatisfactory  except  that  which  resolves  all 
effects  into  the  immediate  agency  of  one  mighty  and 
intelligent  Being.  This  would  doubtless  have  been  gen- 
erally adopted,  were  it  not,  that  though  the  cause  at  work 
in  general  operates  like  a  wise  and  intelligent  agent,  yet 
if  it  be  artificially  thwarted,  it  will  still  go  on,  and  form 
ludicrous,  abortive,  and  monstrous  combinations.  If  then 
we  suppose  it  to  operate  otherwise  than  by  a  surd  neces- 
sity, we  must  conclude  that  such  operations  are  called  for 
by  the  general  scheme  of  Providence,  to  announce  (which 
is  of  great  importance)  the  stability,  in  all  cases,  of  the 
general  rule.  If  this  hypothesis  be  adopted,  we  may 
consider  every  general  law  as  a  single  fact,  and  all  general 
laws  as  a  class  of  facts,  referable  to  the  simple  volition  of 
the  Deity  as  their  cause.  In  such  a  case,  the  volition 
takes  the  place  of  the  general  law,  as  being  that  to  which 
every  thing  is  to  be  referred  ;  and  the  mystery  remains  in 
the  fact  that  volition  can  communicate  motion  at  all,  and 
in  the  existence  and  infinite  energy  of  the  will  exerted. 
This  sublime  view  of  the  universe  and  its  Author,  we 
may  perhaps  hereafter  fully  take  in  and  enjoy. 

In  all  this,  however,  it  will  be  perceived  that  we  have 
merely  traced  causes  more  limited  to  those  more  general, 
but  have  not  proceeded  one  step  in  removing  the  obscu- 
rity which  hangs  over  existence  and  the  nature  of  causa- 
tion. It  will  also  be  perceived,  since  a  general  law  is 
only  an  abstract  name  for  a  uniform  mode  of  operation, 
which  name  can  have  no  efficiency,  that  the  power  which 
operates  according  to  the  law,  must  be  immediately 
exerted  in  producing  every  individual  eff*ect ;  and  that  if 
the  law  be  mysterious,  the  particular  facts,  from  an  obser- 
vation of  which  the  law  was  inferred,  must,  truly  and 


16 

philosophically  speaking,  be  equally  so.  It  will  then 
follow  that  every  event  is  in  fact  equally  mysterious, — 
yes,  every  event ;  and  it  is  familiarity  alone  that  deadens 
the  sense  of  it. 

From  this  universal  mystery,  it  results,  that  the  cre- 
ation of  the  world,  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  the  mode 
of  God's  being,  and  all  those  facts  which,  from  their 
nature,  admit  to  us  of  no  experience,  or  analogy,  but  still 
involve  no  contradiction  or  absurdity,  are  to  be  believed 
on  good  testimony,  however  far  they  may  be  removed 
from  the  course  of  our  experience,  or  strange  to  our  man- 
ner of  conception.  Since  all  events  are  equally  mysteri- 
ous, we  ought,  as  philosophers,  on  equal  testimony,  to 
believe  one  thing  as  readily  as  another,  and  upon  sufficient 
testimony,  to  believe  any  thing  that  is  not  absurd.  Pure 
spiritual  existence  is  much  more  simple  in  the  conception, 
than  the  complex  manner  in  which  we  exist,  and  we  may 
easily  suppose  that  when  the  rumor  of  man's  creation 
reached  the  other  world,  some  skeptical  spirit  may  have 
entered  into  a  disquisition  on  the  possibility  of  such  a 
mode  of  being.  It  must  have  appeared,  if  not  impossible 
and  absurd,  at  least  highly  improbable  ;  and  testimony 
alone  could  have  been  appealed  to,  by  his  fellows,  who 
knew  as  little  of  the  nature  of  the  case  as  himself. 

The  feeling  excited  by  mystery,  is,  as  I  have  said,  a 
union  of  wonder  and  curiosity,  and  when  the  mystery  is 
deep,  becomes  a  sublime,  and  at  the  same  time  a  hum- 
bling emotion.  Having,  as  we  have  seen,  its  foundation 
in  a  principle  of  order,  and  always  implying  the  con- 
viction of  this,  it  necessarily  involves  the  higher  powers 
of  intellect,  and  affords,  what  philosophers  have  some- 
times been  at  a  loss  to  find,  a  ground  of  distinction 
between  man  and  the  brutes.  We  may  therefore  esteem 
it,  notwithstanding  it  implies  ignorance,  an  evidence  of 
our  dignity.  It  is  obvious  also,  that  it  must  most  fre- 
quently arise  in  contemplative  and  philosophic  minds. 


17 

Of  its  uses,  we  may  say,  that  as  it  is,  in  great  minds,  a 
deep  and  absorbing  feeling,  it  gives  a  powerful  stimulus 
to  physical  inquiry ;  that  it  enters  largely  into  the  devo- 
tions of  the  pious,  and  affords  an  occasion  for  the  exercise 
of  the  highest  possible  faith,  and  the  most  sublime 
confidence  in  the  divine  administration  ;  and  that  with- 
out it,  the  present  state,  as  a  scene  of  discipline,  would 
be  essentially  changed.  Even  in  the  way  of  argument, 
important  conclusions  may  sometimes  be  deduced  from  it, 
as  that  for  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments 
from  the  mystery  of  the  present  mode  of  administration. 

Of  the  essence  of  mind  or  matter  we  have  not,  and 
perhaps  no  finite  being  can  have,  the  power  of  forming 
an  elementary  conception.  But  aside  from  this,  we  see, 
from  what  has  been  said,  that  the  intelligence  and  experi- 
ence which  we  may  hope  for  hereafter,  may  enable  us  to 
solve  all  those  difficulties  which  we  now  term  the 
mysteries  of  Providence,  to  reduce  every  physical  fact  to 
its  general  law,  (consequently  to  behold  the  universe 
without  an  anomaly,)  and  to  refer  all  general  laws  imme- 
diately to  the  volition  of  the  Almighty.  That  will 
indeed  be  a  noble  elevation  of  being  to  attain  unto,  when, 
as  clearly  and  as  directly  as  the  rays  of  light  emanate 
from  the  sun,  every  being  and  event  shall  seem  to  flow 
from  the  energies  of  Omnipotence  and  the  depths  of 
ineffable  love.  But  though  all  mystery  may  thus  far  be 
removed,  clouds  and  darkness  must  still  rest  upon  the 
existence,  creative  energy,  and  attributes  of  the  Great 
Cause  uncaused,  and  the  darkness  of  ''  excessive  bright '' 
forever  encompass  His  throne. 


18 


ON  THE  ARGUMENT  FROM  NATURE  FOR  THE  DIVINE 
EXISTENCE. 

With  the  history  of  the  Bridgewater  treatises,  of 
which  this  is  the  third,  *  our  readers  are  probably 
acquainted.  Their  design  is  to  illustrate  the  Power, 
Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  as  manifested  in  the 
creation.  This  has  been  done  with  great  ability  by  Mr. 
Whewell,  in  the  department  assigned  to  him.  But  it  will 
be  remembered  that  it  is  one  thing  to  illustrate  the 
Power,  Wisdom,  and  Goodness  of  God,  supposing  his 
existence  to  be  already  proved  ;  and  quite  another,  to 
prove  his  existence  from  such  indications  as  nature  exhib- 
its. The  difference  between  a  treatise  on  some  branch 
of  natural  philosophy  or  natural  history,  and  one  on 
natural  theology,  seems  to  be  that  in  the  latter,  physical 
and  efficient  causes  are  considered  only  so  far  as  is  neces- 
sary to  illustrate  the  final  causes  or  uses  of  things,  and 
that  then  these  final  causes  are  made  premises  from 
which  to  infer  the  existence  and  attributes  of  God. 
This  is  the  mode  of  argument  adopted  in  the  work 
before  us. 

It  is  our  purpose,  before  noticing  this  work,  to  make 
some  observations  on  the  place  which  the  argument  from 
design,  as  exhibited  in  external  nature,  holds  in  producing 

*  Astronomy  and  General  Physics  considered  with  reference  to  Natural 
Theology.  By  the  Rev.  William  Whewell,  M.  A.,  Fellow  and  Tutor  of 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


19 

the  belief  of  a  God  in  mankind  at  large  ;  and  also  on  the 
real  import  and  logical  validity  of  that  argument. 

It  by  no  means  follows,  because  the  argument  from 
design  is  generally  stated  as  the  formal  proof  of  the  being 
of  a  God,  that  it  is  therefore  the  real  ground  of  our 
belief;  for  it  often  happens  that  we  are  ourselves  fully 
convinced  of  a  truth,  and  yet,  when  we  would  convince 
others,  we  are  obliged  to  adduce  arguments,  and  invent 
media  of  proof,  entirely  different  from  those  on  which 
our  own  conviction  rests.  Thus,  a  man  may  have  such. 
a  sense  of  the  excellence  of  the  Scriptures,  and  of  their 
applicability  to  his  own  case,  as  to  be  perfectly  satisfied 
on  this  ground  alone,  that  they  are  authentic  and  in- 
spired ;  and  yet,  if  he  would  prove  this  to  another,  he 
must  resort  to  arguments  entirely  distinct  from  this — he 
must  go  to  what  are  called  the  external  evidences. 

In  the  infancy  of  society, — and  many  nations  are  yet  in 
their  infancy, — before  science  has  made  her  researches, 
nothing  can  be  more  obscure  and  perplexing  than  the 
operations  of  nature.  Design  itself  is  often  concealed,  is 
often  but  obscurely  perceived,  and  unity  of  design  is  not 
perceived  at  all  ;  and  yet  we  find  mankind  holding  on  to 
their  belief  in  a  God,  with  a  strength  altogether  dispro- 
portioned  to  the  clearness  with  which  design  can  possibly 
be  discovered.  If  we  consider,  too,  the  great  importance 
to  the  race  of  a  belief  in  a  God,  and  th«  analogy  of 
nature  in  regard  to  the  mode  in  which  essential  ideas  are 
furnished,  we  may  perhaps  think  it  probable  that  thijs 
great  idea  was  not  intended  to  be  entirely  dependent  on 
the  varying  process  of  induction  from  premises  without. 
It  may  apj)ear  probable  that  religion,  to  which  the  idea  of 
God  is  fundamental,  which  is  afterwards  to  shoot  higher 
and  spread  wider  in  its  influence  than  any  other  power, 
should  have  its  roots  in  the  very  foundation  and  elements 
of  the  soul  of  man.  It  is  only  on  the  supposition  of 
something  of  this   kind   in   the   original   constitution  of 


20 

man,  that  the  common  definition  of  him  as  a  religious 
animal  can  be  sustained. 

Influenced  by  these  and  similar  considerations,  several 
philosophers  have  asserted  that  the  idea  of  God  is  innate  ; 
by  which  we  suppose  them  to  mean,  that  it  is  elementary 
to  the  human  mind,  and  necessarily  arises  from  the  devel- 
opment of  its  faculties  and  in  the  circumstances  in  which 
it  is  placed.  This  is  certainly  the  caise  with  a  number  of 
primary  truths,  the  proof  of  which,  just  in  proportion  as 
they  are  elementary,  is  at  the  same  time  difficult  and 
superfluous.  Take  for  instance  that  of  personal  identity. 
No  one  doubts  this,  yet  there  are  few  who  would  not  be 
puzzled  to  prove  it.  We  may  invent  arguments  concern- 
ing it,  we  may  seem  to  be  convinced  by  them,  they  may 
be  in  fact  conclusive,  and  yet  we  are  in  the  end  no  more 
certain  of  the  thing  itself  than  we  were  before. 

That  the  idea  and  belief  of  a  God  are  in  some  such 
relation  to  us,  arising  with  more  or  less  distinctness  from 
the  development  of  our  faculties,  seems  probable,  as 
hinted  above,  from  the  very  general  agreement  of  man- 
kind on  this  subject.  No  other  instance  can  be  adduced 
of  such  general  agreement  on  any  subject,  the  ground  of 
which  is  to  be  found  in  reasoning  from  premises  that  are 
without.  Except  in  mathematical  truths,  mankind  differ 
in  every  thing  that  is  derived  from  deduction,  and 
nothing  can  be  more  diverse  than  their  opinions.  But  in 
regard  to  their  belief  in  a  God,  however  different  and 
futile  may  have  been  the  reasons  by  which  they  proved  it 
to  themselves,  yet  they  seem,  in  general,  to  have  been 
equally  certain  of  the  thing  ;  showing  that  they  rather 
sought  arguments  for  what  they  believed  before  on 
grounds  so  elementary  that  they  found  it  difficult  to  give 
an  account  of  them,  than  that  their  belief  was  the  con- 
sequence of  their  arguments. 

If  our  limits  would  permit,  we  should  like  to  enter 
upon  the  question  of  the  reality  and  legitimacy  of  such 


21 

an  idea.  This,  however,  is  not  our  intention.  If  we 
suppose  it  to  exist,  it  is  still  desirable  to  have  a  form  of 
proof  corresponding  to  that  of  the  external  evidence  for 
the  Scriptures.  It  is  desirable  that  we  should  be  able  to 
state  distinctly  such  data  as  shall  be  assented  to  by  those 
who  deny  the  existence  or  authority  of  first  impressions, 
to  divest  our  proof  of  the  obscurity,  which,  to  many 
minds,  hangs  £iround  our  spontaneous  and  elementary 
ideas,  and  to  bring  the  argument  within  the  province  of 
our  reflective  and  logical  powers.  There  is  no  man  who 
does  not  find  his  convictions  strengthened,  when  his  orig- 
inal and  obscure  impressions  are  thus  confirmed  by  a 
logical  process  of  the  understanding.  But  if  we  do  not 
suppose  such  an  elementary  belief  in  a  God,  then  is  it 
doubly  important  that  we  should  state  our  argument  from 
other  sources  in  the  best  manner  we  may,  since  it  is  only 
from  its  connection  with  him  that  human  nature  finds 
either  dignity  or  hope. 

An  argument,  the  want  of  which  is  thus  indicated,  is 
supposed  by  many  to  be  found  in  the  order  and  harmony 
of  the  external  universe.  This  argument  has  been 
adduced  from  the  earliest  times,  and  either  from  its  coin- 
ciding with  previous  opinions,  or  from  its  intrinsic  Aveight, 
has  been  generally  thought  conclusive.  Still  there  have 
always  been  those  who  contested  its  validity.  The 
ground  anciently  assumed  by  those  who  denied  the  force 
of  this  argument,  was  entirely  different  from  that  which 
is  taken  in  modern  times.  The  mechanism  of  the 
heavens  was  then  undisclosed ;  nothing  comparatively 
was  known  of  the  structure  of  animals  or  vegetables,  or 
of  the  processes  by  which  life  is  sustained.  Nothing  was 
known  of  chemistry,  or  electricity,  or  magnetism,  or  of 
the  weight  of  the  atmosphere,  or  of  the  properties  of 
light.  Hypothesis  assumed  the  place  of  observation,  and 
so  long  as  men  endeavored,  from  preconceived  notions,  to 
prescribe  the  mode  in  which  God  ought   to  act,  rather 


22 

than  to  observe  how  he  did  act,  it  is  clear  that  the 
figments  of  the  human  imagination  must  have  been  taken 
as  the  standard  and  measure  of  the  wisdom  of  God. 
Accordingly,  the  question  then  was,  not  whether  perfect, 
or  at  least  extended  order  and  harmony  would  prove  the 
existence  of  God,  but  whether  there  was  such  order  and 
harmony  in  nature.  It  was  the  sensible  reply  of  one  of 
the  Byzantine  emperors,  when  a  priest  endeavored  to 
illustrate  to  him  the  wisdom  of  God  from  the  mechanism 
of  the  heavens  as  then  understood,  that  he  thought  he 
could  construct  them  better  himself  But  the  progress  of 
modern  science  has  put  this  question  forever  at  rest. 
Every  new  discovery  has  added  force  to  the  conviction 
of  design,  as  involved  in  the  production  and  maintenance 
of  the  present  system  of  things,  and  no  man  at  all 
acquainted  with  any  department  of  nature,  would  now 
say  that  he  thought  he  could  arrange  it  better  himself. 
So  far  indeed  have  investigations  of  this  kind  been  car- 
ried, and  so  full  is  nature  of  design  and  purpose,  from  the 
blade  of  grass  to  the  sun  in  the  heavens,  that  she  now 
seems  to  stand  as  one  great  transparency,  through  which 
the  workings  of  a  designing  agent  may  be  seen.  And 
not  only  so,  but  apparent  discrepancies  have  been  so 
reconciled,  particular  events  have  been  so  traced  to  gen- 
eral laws,  and  such  a  convergency  and  principle  of  unity 
has  been  traced  in  the  laws  themselves,  as  to  force  upon 
the  scientific  inquirer  the  conviction,  that  this  designing 
agent,  whatever  its  nature  or  attributes  in  other  respects 
may  be,  must  be  one. 

But  while  science  advanced,  and  the  evidence  of  design 
was  indicated,  the  ground  of  controversy  was  changed, 
and  speculative  atheism  increased.  That  great  feature  of 
nature,  ascertauied  by  the  inductive  logic,  that  she  works 
by  general  laws,  which  are  universal  and  unswerving 
under  all  circumstances,  began  to  stand  out  more  and 
more  prominently.     From  some  circumstances  which  we 


23 

shall  point  out  presently,  connected  with  this  invariable 
operation  of  the  laws  of  nature,  men  began  to  rest  in  the 
laws  themselves  as  a  sufficient  account  of  the  events 
which  took  place  according  to  them,  or  at  most,  to  attrib- 
ute their  existence  and  efficacy  to  the  workings  of  some 
unreflective,  unconscious,  adaptive  energy,  like  the  plastic 
nature  of  Cudworth,  or  wluit  has  been  called  the  "  soul 
of  the  world." 

This  is  doubtless  the  strong  hold  of  modern  atheism. 
We  call  it  atheism,  because,  though  it  admits,  as  it  must, 
an  energy  in  nature,  it  denies  the  moral  character  of  God  ; 
it  destroys  accountability,  and  puts  in  the  place  of  our 
Father  who  is  in  heaven,  a  blind  and  remorseless  destiny. 
It  is  not,  however,  atheists  alone,  who,  since  the  revela- 
tions of  modern  science,  have  thought  that  the  existence 
of  a  being  at  all  corresponding  to  our  idea  of  God,  could 
not  be  proved  from  the  light  of  nature.  The  religious 
and  philosophical  Pascal  was  of  this  opinion  ;  and  recent- 
ly the  same  opinion  has  been  common  among  the  German 
philosophers.  It  has  also  been  embraced  by  some  in 
England  and  in  this  country.*  Our  inquiry,  then,  is, 
why  this  argument  has  not  been  more  universally  con- 
vincing ;  and  whether  design,  manifested  according  to 
fixed  laws,  is  so  encumbered  and  obscured  as  to  render 
less  imperative  the  logical  conviction  of  a  divine  and  free 
superintendence  ? 

The  question,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  not  whether 
some  power  exists,  for  that  is  conceded  ;  not  whether 
that  power  can  contrive,  for  its  resources  in  that  way  are 
evidently  indefinitely  great;  but  whether  that  power  is  a 
distinct,  free,  personal  agent.  If  this  be  not  true,  then 
have  we  no  relations  to  God  which  our  moral  nature  can 
recognize,  and  his  existence  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of 
proof. 

*  See  Coleridge's  Aiils  to  Retlection,  p.  119,  with  llic  note  l>y  Prcsideal 
Marsh. 


24 

It  may  be  difficult  to  define,  exactly,  in  what  personality 
consists;  but  our  idea  of  it  is  distinct,  and  is  implied  in 
almost  every  action  of  our  lives.  No  one  can  fail  to  per- 
ceive how  wide  is  the  gulf  which  separates  him  from  a 
thing,  or  from  a  brute,  which  is,  so  far  as  law  and  right 
are  concerned,  a  thing  ;  and  no  one  can  believe  that  any 
addition,  in  kind,  to  the  powers  of  the  brute,  can  make  it 
approximate  to  an  equality  with  himself.  Man  is  of  a 
different  nature.  The  transition  from  the  brutes  to  man, 
in  the  ascending  series  of  creation,  was  like  that  from 
inanimate  to  animate  being  ;  and  when  nature  made  it, 
she  passed  a  chasm  across  which  no  bridge  can  ever  be 
thrown.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between  a  spire  of 
grass  and  the  oak  that  shades  it ;  still  that  spire  possesses 
every  thing  in  kind  that  belongs  to  the  tree,  and  is  equal- 
ly removed  from  the  largest  mass  of  unorganized  matter. 
As  the  difference  between  that  spire  and  mere  matter,  so 
is  that  between  man  and  the  brutes  ;  as  the  difference 
between  the  same  spire  and  the  oak  above  it,  so  is  that 
between  man  and  the  seraphim  and  cherubim  above. 
The  chief  distinctive  characteristics  of  man  and  the 
elements  of  personality,  seem  to  be,  reason,  by  which  Ave 
mean  here  the  power  of  distinguishing  the  necessary  and 
the  universal ;  reflection,  sometimes  termed  self-conscious- 
ness, by  which  we  become  at  the  same  time  the  subject 
and  the  object  of  thought ;  free-will  ;  and  the  power  of 
perceiving  moral  relations,  which  last  is  by  some  supposed 
to  belong  to  reason.  Whether  each  of  these  implies  all 
the  others,  we  need  not  now  inquire  ;  but  so  far  as  we 
can  observe,  no  one  of  them  belongs  to  any  brute ;  and 
by  the  deprivation  of  any  one  of  them,  we  should  feel 
our  personality  impaired.  Each  of  these  powers  must 
enter  into  every  rational  conception  of  God,  as  a  personal 
agent,  in  distinction  from  nature,  or  some  blind  principle, 
possessing  an  efficacy  but  without  personality — in  dis- 
tinction from  some  voluble  spirit,  like  the  air,  unconscious 


25 

and  necessitated,  which  mere  naturalists  love  to  contem- 
plate as  working  in  and  rolling  through  all  things. 

All  valid  argument  for  the  existence  of  God,  must  pro- 
ceed on  the  ground  of  the  necessary  connection  between 
every  effect,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  between  every 
event,  and  some  adequate  cause.  The  relation  between 
an  event  and  its  cause,  is  a  fundamental  law  of  human 
belief.  We  can  no  more  conceive  of  an  event  without  a 
cause,  than  we  can  conceive  of  body  without  space. 
How  the  ideas  of  space  and  of  causation  come  into  the 
mind,  it  is  not  our  present  business  to  inquire.  That  they 
are  necessarily  there  is  certain  ;  and  if  any  man  denies 
their  existence,  he  gives  the  lie  to  his  own  consciousness, 
and  has  no  ground  for  the  assertion  of  any  thing. 

In  arguing  from  the  effect  to  the  cause,  we  are  not 
bound  to  admit  in  the  cause  any  thing  different  in  kind 
from  that  which  we  find  in  the  effect.  By  this  it  is  not 
meant  that  there  must  be  in  the  cause  every  thing  that  is 
found  in  the  effect,  for  then  the  creation  of  matter,  and 
the  existence  of  sin,  except  as  eternal,  would  have  been 
impossible  ;  but  that  we  are  bound  to  infer  in  the  cause 
no  higher  powers  than  are  requisite  to  produce  the  effect. 
To  do  more,  would  be  contrary  to  a  fundamental  maxim 
of  the  Newtonian  logic.  It  was  said  by  bishop  Berkley, 
that  we  have  the  same  evidence  for  the  existence  of  God, 
that  we  have  for  that  of  our  fellow-man.  When  we  look 
at  his  body,  the  material  envelope,  it  is  not  the  man 
which  we  see  ;  but  from  the  indications  of  intelligence 
manifested  through  the  medium  of  his  body,  we  infer  that 
that  which  is  truly  the  man  exists,  though  it  escapes  the 
cognizance  of  the  senses.  With  equal,  and  precisely  the 
same  reason,  when  we  discover  marks  of  design  hi  na- 
ture, do  we  conclude,  though  it  ''works  unseen,"  that 
there  is  a  designing  agent.  But  two  orders  of  intelligence 
fall  under  our  observation,  that  of  brutes,  and  of  men.  To 
4 


26 

each  of  these  belongs  the  power  of  contrivance  and  de- 
sign ;  but  to  man,  something  distinctive  and  superior  is 
added.  If,  therefore,  we  see  in  the  works  of  nature  noth- 
ing different  in  kind  from  the  manifestations  of  design  ex- 
hibited by  the  brutes,  then  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose 
in  the  power,  whatever  it  may  be,  which  regulates  those 
works,  any  thing  superior  to  that  which  exists  in  them  ; 
but  if.  on  the  other  hand,  we  see  evidence  of  the  higher 
kind  of  intelligence  which  belongs  to  man,  then  have  we 
the  same  evidence  for  the  existence  of  that  intelligence, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  constitute  the  rational  idea  of  God, 
as  we  have  to  suppose  that  man  himself  exists. 

In  order  to  determine  this  point,  it  is  necessary  to  com- 
pare the  operations  of  nature  with  those  of  animals  and  of 
man  respectively,  and  to  observe  in  what  respects  they 
agree  and  in  what  they  differ. 

In  doing  this,  we  remark,  first,  as  was  noticed  above, 
that  there  is  in  brutes,  as  well  as  in  nature,  the  power  of 
contrivance  and  design,  and  that  this  power,  though  limited 
in  its  sphere,  yet  seems,  within  that  sphere,  to  be  equally 
perfect  and  unerring  with  that  possessed  by  nature. 
Nothing  can  be  more  artificial,  more  precisely  adapted  to 
its  purpose,  or,  the  end  being  given,  show  a  more  perfect 
capacity  of  attaining  it,  than  the  comb  of  the  bee.  There 
is  not  only  contrivance,  but  in  this  case,  as  in  many  others, 
there  is  also  prospective  contrivance,  which  is  justly  men- 
tioned by  writers  on  natural  theology,  as  making  a  strong 
case.  The  preparation  by  the  bee,  without  instruction  or 
experience,  of  honey  and  wax,  against  a  time  of  need,  is 
analogous  to  that  by  nature  of  the  lungs,  before  birth. 
Instances  of  this  kind  it  is  needless  to  particularize. 
From  the  single  fact  that  brutes  contrive,  we  must  infer, 
either  that  they  are  persons,  or  that  contrivance  does  not 
prove  personality.  But  it  will  be  said  that  this  is  instinct,. 
and  that  writers  on  natural  theology  refer  the  constitution 
of  instincts  to  some  higher  power.     Be  it  so  ;  but  as  it  is 


27 

only  instinct  that  is  produced,  since  like  produces  like,  it 
may  have  been  only  a  more  extended  and  powerful  instinct 
that  produced  it.  A  name  is  nothing.  We  call  the  prin- 
ciple by  which  animals  are  actuated  instinct;  but  call  it 
what  we  may,  we  see  a  being  having  a  sensorium,  having 
individuality  and  distinct  organization,  producing  effects 
similar  to  those  produced  by  nature,  and  yet  not  furnish- 
ing the  least  evidence  of  personality.  If,  therefore,  there 
may  be  an  individual  power,  entirely  dissevered  from 
reason  and  conscience,  and  yet  producing  such  results, 
who  shall  limit  the  extent  to  which  it  may  reach,  or  the 
effect,  that  is  within  its  own  proper  sphere,  which  it  may 
produce  ? 

We  remark,  secondly,  that  in  their  conformity  to  fixed 
laws,  and  in  their  variation  from  them,  according  to  cir- 
cumstances, there  is  a  striking  analogy  between  the  works 
of  nature  and  those  of  animals.  A  perfect  instinct  we 
conceive  of  as  acting  blindly  and  uniformly,  without  any 
variation  whatever.  But  no  animal,  so  far  as  we  know, 
has  an  instinct  of  this  kind.  They  all  possess  a  power  of 
accommodating  themselves  more  or  less  to  peculiar  emer- 
gencies, and  in  some  instances  this  adaptive  power  extends 
so  far,  as  apparently  to  border  on  the  province  of  reason. 
Thus,  it  was  observed  by  Huber,  that  <'  those  ants  who 
lay  the  foundation  of  a  wall,  or  chamber,  or  gallery,  from 
working  separately,  occasion  now  and  then  a  want  of  co- 
incidence in  the  parts  of  the  same  or  different  objects. 
Such  examples  are  of  no  unfrequent  occurrence,  but  they 
by  no  means  embarrass  them.  What  follows  proves  that 
the  workman,  on  discovering  his  error,  knew  how  to  rec- 
tify it.  A  wall  had  been  erected,  with  the  view  of  sus- 
taining a  vaulted  ceiling,  still  incomplete,  that  had  been 
projected  from  the  wall  of  the  opposite  chamber.  The 
workman  who  began  constructing  it  had  given  it  too  little 
elevation  to  meet  the  opposite  partition  on  which  it  was 
to  rest.     Had  it  been  continued  on  the  original  plan,  it 


28 

must  infallibly  have  met  the  wall  at  about  one  half  of  its 
height.  This  state  of  things  very  forcibly  arrested  my 
attention,  when  one  of  the  ants,  arriving  at  the  place,  and 
visiting  the  works,  appeared  to  be  struck  by  the  difficulty 
that  presented  itself ;  but  this  it  as  soon  obviated,  by  taking 
down  the  ceiling,  and  raising  the  wall  upon  which  it  re- 
posed. It  then,  in  my  presence,  constructed  a  new  ceiling 
with  the  fragments  of  the  former  one."  Bees,  when 
transported  to  warm  climates,  soon  cease  their  accumula- 
tions of  honey.  Some  birds  that  build  their  nests  upon 
the  branches  in  regions  where  they  are  secure,  suspend 
them  by  a  cord  when  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  serpents 
or  monkeys.  Cases  of  this  kind  among  larger  animals  are 
so  common  that  they  need  not  be  specified.  An  example 
or  two  of  the  same  kind  will  illustrate  a  multitude  of 
others,  that  occur  in  the  works  of  nature.  If  the  large 
vessel,  that  supplies  a  portion  of  the  body  with  blood,  be 
cut  or  tied,  nature  will  set  herself  at  work,  and  will  en- 
large in  a  surprising  manner  the  small  and  circuitous  ves- 
sels leading  to  the  same  part,  and  thus,  notwithstanding 
the  interruption  of  her  original  plan,  will  effect  her  pur- 
pose, viz.  the  nourishment  of  that  part.  Or,  if  it  should 
be  said  that  it  is  the  increased  pressure  of  the  blood  that 
enlarges  the  vessels  mechanically,  though  every  physiolo- 
gist knows  that  this  is  not  the  fact,  then  we  may  take  the 
instance  of  the  head  of  a  bone  displaced  from  its  socket. 
In  this  case,  there  will  be  deposited  around  it,  after  a  time, 
a  substance  much  resembling  cartilage,  and  something 
like  a  new  socket  will  be  formed,  giving  it  all  the  ease  of 
position,  and  facility  of  motion,  of  which  its  situation  is 
susceptible.  In  general,  however,  the  laws  of  operation, 
both  of  nature  and  of  animals,  are  uniform.  Let  them 
alone,  thwart  them  in  nothing,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
perfect  than  the  result,  or  more  admirable  than  the  means 
taken  to  accomplish  it.  But  whatever  power  of  varying 
from  these   laws,  to  meet  particular  emergencies,  nature 


29 

possesses,  this  power,  call  it  what  we  may,  animals  possess 
in  a  still  more  striking  degree. 

We  remark,  thirdly,  that  if  brutes  or  nature  be  thwarted 
in  their  operations,  in  a  particular  manner,  or  to  a  certain 
extent,  they  will  still  pursue  those  operations,  in  a  manner 
which  seems  equally  abortive  and  absurd.  A  bee  will  fly 
against  a  window  glass  a  hundred  times,  and  still  be  no 
wiser  for  it.  The  blue  fly  will  deposit  its  eggs  upon  the 
ictodes  fmtida.  The  hen  will  continue  to  lay  her  eggs, 
though  they  are  constantly  removed  ;  and  she  will,  as 
mentioned  by  Paley,  sit  upon  those  which  have  not  been 
fecundated,  though  it  is  certain  they  never  can  hatch.  In 
nature,  instances  of  this  kind  are  innumerable.  Girdle  a 
tree,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  space,  and,  though  it 
is  evident  that  nature  can  never  accomplish  her  original 
purpose  of  nourishing  the  tree,  and  producing  fruit,  yet 
will  she  pursue,  year  after  year,  her  languid  and  inefficient 
attempts.  If  the  seed  of  an  annual  plant  be  sown  in  the 
fall,  it  will  sprout  and  grow  so  long  as  it  can,  though  it  is 
certain  that  the  ensuing  winter  will  destroy  it ;  whereas, 
if  the  operations  of  nature  were  analogous  to  those  of 
man,  she  would  cause  it  to  lie  over  the  winter  before  it 
sprouted,  and  it  would  then  become  a  perfect  plant.  If 
the  duct  leading  from  the  parotid  gland  to  the  mouth  be 
cut  off,  nature  still  secretes  the  fluid  in  that  gland,  not 
only  to  no  good  purpose,  but  to  the  entire  prevention  of 
the  curative  process  which  she  would  otherwise  carry  on. 
But  the  instance  most  in  point,  and  we  mention  it  because 
it  is  so,  is  in  the  formation  of  monsters.  In  these  cases, 
from  some  accident,  the  powers  of  nature  are  thwarted  ; 
but  instead  of  giving  up  her  work,  as  it  seems  to  us  an 
intelligent  agent  would  do,  she  will  go  on,  an-d  form 
the  most  fantastic  and  useless  combinations,  still,  however, 
struggling  after  her  original  plan.  She  will  produce  an 
eye  in  the  chest,  she  will  cause  an  arm  to  grow  from  the 
back,  she  will  constitute  animal  structures  entirely  inca- 


30 

pable  of  sustaining  life — machines  that  will  not  go  ;  she 
will  even  make  them  so  misshapen  and  unwieldy,  that 
they  must  necessarily  destroy  her  own  works  in  the  per- 
son of  the  mother  herself. 

Thus  far,  then,  the  analogy  between  the  works  of  na- 
ture, and  those  of  animals,  is  very  striking.  They  may 
both  be  compared  in  their  operations  to  a  blind  man  pass- 
ing along  a  narrow  track,  whose  course  is  guided  by  a 
string  stretched  in  the  same  direction,  along  which  he 
passes  his  fingers.  So  long  as  he  holds  to  the  string,  he 
steps  with  perfect  security,  but  the  moment  he  loses  that, 
he  gropes  and  stumbles  ;  he  continues  his  exertions  indeed, 
but  they  are  quite  in  the  dark,  and  can  hardly  fail  to  be 
either  nugatory  or  pernicious. 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  this  parallel,  which  might  be  ex- 
tended, we  have  contrasted,  and  perhaps  sufficiently  for 
our  present  purpose,  the  active  powers  in  nature  with 
those  in  man.  Nature  is  apparently  necessitated  and  uni- 
form ;  man  is  free  and  diverse  in  his  actions. 

The  existence  of  general  and  inexorable  laws  certainly 
does  not  preclude  that  of  a  personal  being.  There  are 
many  and  good  reasons,  why,  if  such  a  being  exists,  it 
would  be  proper  for  him  to  carry  on  his  administration  by 
such  laws.  It  may  be,  it  probably  is,  the  best  way  ;  but 
still,  so  long  as  they  move  on  in  their  unvarying  consis- 
tency, we  cannot  infer  from  them  alone,  the  existence  of 
a  being  who  is  above  law,  who  is  not  necessitated,  who 
has  in  himself  any  thing  other  and  higher  than  the  laws 
themselves  manifest. 

Could  this  uniformity  be  once  broken  up,  could  this 
rigid  order  be  once  infringed  for  a  good  and  manifest  rea- 
son, it  would  change  the  whole  face  of  the  argument. 
Could  we  once  see  gravitation  suspended  when  the  good 
man  is  thrown  by  his  persecutors  from  the  top  of  the 
rock  ;  could  we  see  a  chariot  and  horses  of  fire  descend 
and  deliver  the  righteous  from  the  universal  laAV  of  death  ; 


31 

could  we  see  the  sun  stand  still  in  heaven  that  the  wicked 
might  be  overthrown  ;  then  should  we  be  assured  of  a  per- 
sonal power  with  a  distinct  will,  whose  agents  and  minis- 
ters these  laws  were.  Such  an  event  would  be  a  miracle, 
an  event  in  its  moral  relations  of  the  most  amazing  import. 
Such  attestations  of  his  being,  we  believe  God  has  given, 
and  given,  too,  in  reference  to  this  very  feeling  of  indefi- 
niteness,  of  generality,  of  want  of  personality  in  the  su- 
preme power,  which  the  operation  of  general  laws,  ne- 
cessarily confounding  all  moral  distinctions,  has  a  tenden- 
cy to  produce.  But  if  such  events  have  happened,  they 
are  not  a  part  of  nature,  it  is  not  nature  that  tells  us  of 
them,  and  it  is  only  with  her  that  we  are  at  present  con- 
cerned. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  these  views,  as  bearing 
upon  the  argument  from  design,  they  will  not  be  without 
their  uses  if  they  indicate  more  clearly  than  has  some- 
times been  done,  those  peculiarities  of  design  as  mani- 
fested through  general  laws,  by  which,  so  far  as  it  is  un- 
connected with  the  heart,  an  atheistic  impression  is  pro- 
duced. To  illustrate  these,  in  connection  with  the  argu- 
ment from  design,  still  farther,  we  shall  make  a  few  ob- 
servations of  somewhat  wider  compass. 

There  are  two  properties  commonly  ascribed  to  the 
works  of  nature,  which  if  they  can  be  proved  from  her 
own  light,  would  seem  to  imply  personahty  in  the  agent. 
These  are  wisdom  and  goodness. 

Objections  to  the  wisdo?n  of  nature,  are  derived  from 
two  sources.  The  first  is  the  independent  mode  in  which 
her  laws  act  with  reference  to  each  other,  the  result  of 
which  is  an  apparent  want  of  consistency,  or  of  mutual 
understanding  between  her  several  departments.  A  wise 
man  does  not  destroy  with  one  hand  what  he  has  been  at 
much  pains  to  construct  with  the  other.  The  tendency 
of  animals  to  devour  each  other,  may  perhaps,  when  op- 
posed to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  be  considered  as 


32 

a  case  of  this  kind.  True  it  is  that  life  is  preserved  and 
perpetuated,  but  it  is  only  on  the  condition  of  death. 
"Life,"  it  is  true,  "seats  herself  upon  the  sepulchre," 
but  then  she  digs  the  sepulchre  upon  which  she  sits ;  and 
nature,  so  far  as  she  is  carnivorous,  seems  as  it  were  an 
animal  that  lives  only  by  preying  upon  itself.  But  in- 
stances are  more  striking  when  taken  from  provinces  of 
nature  more  distinct  from  each  other.  In  one  of  her  de- 
partments, we  see  innumerable  blossoms  put  forth  and 
elaborated  with  the  nicest  care,  containing,  to  an  indefinite 
extent,  the  germs  of  future  fruitfulness ;  in  another  de- 
partment, we  see  the  frost  come,  and,  without  remorse, 
cut  them  off  in  a  moment.  In  the  man  falling  from  a 
precipice,  we  see  nature,  with  one  hand  carrying  on,  with 
her  wonted  assiduity,  the  processes  of  life,  while  with  the 
other,  she  is  dashing  him  to  destruction.  The  conflagra- 
tion and  tempest  proceed  with  equal  fury,  whether  they 
war  with  the  laws  of  life  or  spend  themselves  upon  inani- 
mate matter.  But  the  chief  difficulty  in  discovering  wis- 
dom from  the  works  of  nature,  arises  from  the  fact  that 
the  real  and  ultimate  end  of  her  works  is  not  discoverable 
by  her  light  alone.  Wisdom  and  knowledge  are  by  no 
means  identical.  Wisdom  is  judged  of  from  the  end  pur- 
sued ;  knowledge,  fron^  the  means  taken  in  pursuing  it. 
Man  is  always  a  knowing,  but  not  often  a  wise  being. 
His  contrivances  are  fitted  to  his  ends,  but  his  ends  are 
folly.  In  inquiring,  then,  after  the  wisdom  of  nature,  we 
must  observe,  not  the  means  which  she  employs,  not  any 
subordinate  end,  but  whether  we  can  discover  any  ulti- 
mate end,  and  if  so,  what  that  is. 

In  looking  for  an  ultimate  end  of  nature,  we  should 
doubtless  expect  to  find  it,  if  any  where,  in  man,  since  he 
is  the  epitome  and  crown  of  all  that  we  behold.  But 
when  we  observe  the  uncertainty  and  brevity  of  his  life, 
heat  and  cold,  hunger  and  thirst,  poverty  and  disease, 
pressing  upon  him  in  that  little  space,  when  we  see  how 


33 

all  his  faculties,  and  life  itself,  are,  as  it  were,  sported  with, 
wnfen  we  see  the  grinning  idiot  and  the  moody  or  raving 
maniac,  when  we  see  the  pestilence  sweep  him  suddenly 
into  the  grave,  regardless  of  his  aims  or  his  hopes,  when 
we  see  him  in  no  way  more  respected  in  any  of  nature's 
operations  than  the  meanest  insect,  we  cannot  suppose 
that  the  end  of  all  this  mighty  scheme  is  to  be  found  in 
him.  This  conviction  is  especially  strengthened  when  we 
consider  the  disorder  of  the  passions,  all  "  the  oppressions 
that  are  done  under  the  sun,"  and  in  generalj  how  the 
events  in  the  moral  world,  whether  man  has  to  do  with 
nature  that  brings  all  things  alike  to  all,  or  whether  he 
has  to  do  with  his  fellow-men,  conflict  with  our  natural 
sense  of  order  and  of  right.  But  if  this  end  cannot  be 
found  in  man,  much  less  can  it  in  the  inferior  animals,  or 
in  any  thing  unconscious,  however  beautifully  organized. 
The  instant  indeed  that  this  world  is  viewed  as  a  prepara- 
tory dispensation,  the  whole  face  of  things  is  changed. 
The  instant  we  regard  this  visible  and  material  structure 
as  a  temporary  staging  which  is  to  stand  only  till  the  com- 
pletion of  the  true  building,  which  is  moral,  spiritual,  per- 
fect, eternal,  that  instant  do  we  discover  an  end  worthy  of 
this  amazing  scene  of  things,  that  instant  do  we  discover 
wisdo'tn.  But  this  idea,  nature  and  the  works  of  nature 
do  not  give.  To  whatever  extent  it  has  existed  in  the 
minds  of  men,  it  has  existed  there,  not  from  a  philosophi- 
cal examination  of  the  works  of  nature,  but  from  tradi- 
tion, and  from  reflecting  upon  the  operations  and  forebod- 
ings of  their  own  minds.  If  we  suppose,  as  believers  in 
revelation  do,  that  the  ultimate  end  of  the  present  system 
is  the  establishment  of  such  a  moral  and  permanent  gov- 
ernment, then,  to  suppose  that  we  can  discover  wisdom  in 
it,  without  a  knowledge  of  that  end,  is  much  the  same  as 
to  suppose  that  we  could  discover  wisdom  in  the  contriv- 
ances for  picking  and  carding  cotton  without  knowing 
that  cloth  was  to  be  made  of  it.  Show  us  the  cloth,  the 
5 


34 

ultimate  end,  and  then  we  are  willing  to  admit  that  there 
is  wisdom  in  the  arrangements,  though  we  may  not  un- 
derstand them  all  ;  but  no  elaborateness  of  contrivance  for 
a  nugatory  end,  or  for  no  end  at  all,  can  discover  wisdom. 
What  we  would  say  then,  is,  that  the  true  end  of  the 
works  of  nature  being  out  of  and  beyond  themselves,  is 
not  discoverable  from  them ;  and  that  without  some 
knowledge  of  what  the  end  is  in  any  work,  we  cannot 
tell  whether  there  is  wisdom  displayed  in  it  or  not.  It 
may  be  true,  that  to  a  mind  of  great  compass,  like  that  of 
Bishop  Butler,  certain  general  tendencies  are  discoverable 
in  nature,  towards  a  great  moral  result,  and  these,  when 
discovered,  go  strongly  to  confirm  the  direct  evidence  for 
that  result ;  but  they  are  not  obvious  to  the  mass  of  man- 
kind, and,  when  taken  by  themselves,  are  so  obscure  as  to 
leave  the  greatest  and  best  minds  in  distressing  perplexity. 
Several  of  the  remarks  made  in  regard  to  wisdom,  ap- 
ply equally  to  the  subject  of  goodness,  as  discoverable 
from  the  works  of  nature.  If  wisdom  be  not  discover- 
able, then  goodness  cannot  be,  since  goodriess  is  a  part  of 
wisdom.  HoAv  can  it  be  known  of  any  thing  whether  it 
be  good,  if  the  end  or  purpose  of  it  be  not  known?  Par- 
ticular subordinate  ends  may  be  known,  but  heathen  na- 
tions were  entirely  uncertain  of  the  ultimate  end  of  the 
present  state  of  things.  Certain  it  is,  as  Butler  remarks, 
that  many  of  the  wisest  among  them  considered  this  world 
as  a  place  of  punishment  for  the  delinquencies  of  some 
former  state  of  being.  It  would  seem  probable  that  the 
opinions  of  mankind  on  this  subject  might  vary,  as  they 
were  situated  in  different  regions  or  in  different  circum- 
stances. *'  Don't  you  suppose,"  said  a  brahmin  to  an 
American  missionary,  pointing  to  a  bearer  who  was  toiling 
in  the  sun,  ''that  that  man  is  in  hell?  "  The  Greenlander 
amidst  his  snows,  the  slave  toiling  all  his  life  long  under 
the  lash,  with  no  knowledge  of  a  futurity,  can  hardly 
feel  that  the  present  world   is  greatly  good  to  them.     So 


So 

discrepant  have  been  the  appearances  of  nature,  the  prin- 
ciples of  good  and  evil  have  been  so  blended  together, 
that  many  nations  have  imagined  the  existence  of  two 
beings  to  whom  they  have  imputed  the  origin  of  all  things, 
the  one  benevolent,  the  other  malevolent.  Between 
these,  they  have  fancied  a  continual  struggle,  and  not  sel- 
dom have  they  chiefly  worshipped  and  endeavored  to  pro- 
pitiate the  malevolent  being.  They  knew  of  the  sunshine 
and  the  breezes,  of  the  flowers  and  the  fruits;  but  they 
knew,  also,  of  tlie  volcano  and  the  earthquake,  of  the 
tempest  and  the  pestilence.  In  estimating  any  scheme, 
we  judge  of  it,  not  so  much  by  particular  parts,  as  by  the 
manner  in  which  it  works.  However  it  may  come  to 
pass,  it  is  matter  of  experience  that  unmixed  happiness  is 
not  to  be  found,  and  that  there  has  been  and  still  is  an  ap- 
palling amount  of  misery  on  this  earth.  Judging  then 
from  nature  only,  from  the  result,  must  not  the  conclusion 
be,  that  there  must  have  been  a  deficiency  either  of  power 
or  of  goodness,  in  that  which  was  the  origin  of  all  things, 
whatever  it  may  have  been  ? 

But  if  we  reason  with  perfect  strictness,  we  shall  see 
that  these  beneficent  contrivances  may  not  have  been  the 
result  of  goodness.  In  order  to  this,  we  must  make  a  dis- 
tinction between  beneficence  and  goodness.  The  sun  is 
beneficent ;  God  is  good.  Goodness  is  the  intentional 
production  of  happiness,  but  there  may  be  beneficence  or 
usefulness  without  this.  The  parent  animal  does  many 
things  which  conduce  to  the  comfort  of  its  young,  but  no 
one  supposes  it  to  have  goodness,  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  term.  If  there  be  an  adaptive,  necessitated,  imper- 
sonal being,  such  as  atheists  mean  by  nature,  its  adapta- 
tions must  tend  to  something,  and  why  not  to  happiness 
as  well  as  to  any  thing  else  ?  How  can  we  know  that 
these  contrivances  arise  from  any  thing  higher  than  that 
which  causes  the  parent  bird  to  build  its  nest  and  line  it 
with  soft  feathers  for  its  young  ?     Nature,  the   mother  of 


36 

all,  may  be  a  beneficent  instinct,  and  there  exist  no  per- 
sonal and  good  being. 

We  admit  that  when  we  follow  the  development  of 
contrivance  in  nature,  and  observe  the  infinity  of  her  re- 
sources, when  we  observe  the  simplicity  of  her  plan,  and 
the  diversity  of  her  operations,  how  perfectly  she  descends 
to  the  minute,  and  how  easily  she  wields  the  vast,  it 
would  be  natural  to  connect  with  the  power  working  all 
this,  the  highest  attributes  of  intelligence  with  which  we 
are  acquainted.  To  do  this  would  be  the  eager  aspiration 
of  every  heart  rightly  affected ;  but  if  what  has  been  said 
be  correct,  logical  accuracy  does  not  compel  the  deduction, 
and  the  argument  from  design  falls  short  of  being  a  strict 
proof  of  the  existence  of  a  personal  God.  Contrivance 
manifested,  no  doubt  proves  a  contriver,  but  this  is  by  no 
means  sufficient  to  furnish  us  with  the  elements  of  his 
character  whom  we  adore  as  Lord  of  all. 

The  inquiry  then  naturally  arises,  whether  we  have 
such  a  formal  proof  as  has  been  sought  for  in  the  argument 
from  design.  We  think  we  have,  though  it  seems  to  have 
been  generally  overlooked  by  writers  on  this  subject.  To 
attain  this,  neglecting  the  particular  argument  from  design, 
we  must  press  the  more  general  one  from  cause  to  effect  ; 
we  must  carry  it  upward,  not  merely  midway  in  the  series 
of  effects,  but  must  make  it  comprise  the  highest  and 
noblest  of  all  known  effects. 

In  doing  this  we  remark,  that  as  the  eye  beholds  all 
things  else,  but  is  invisible  to  itself,  so  the  7imid,  which 
apprehends  other  things,  too  often  overlooks  and  fails  to 
consider  itself  as  a  part  of  that  creation  which  it  contem- 
plates. In  looking  for  the  evidence  of  a  creative  mind, 
where  should  we  expect  to  find  it  but  in  mind  created  ? 
As  Akenside  says  of  beauty  and  sublimity, 

"  Min<i,  iniiid  alone,  bear  witness  oarth  and  heaven, 
The  livini;  fountain  in  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  an<l  sublinic  ;" 


37 

so  we  say,  that  in  created  mind  alone,  do  we  find  the 
highest  and  true  evidence  of  mind  uncreated.  If  mind 
be  any  thing  distinct  from  matter,  it  is  evident  that  it  can 
be  known  only  by  itself ;  that  the  exercise  of  the  facul- 
ties of  mind  is  the  only  condition  on  which  a  knowledge 
of  the  attributes  of  mind  can  be  obtained,  the  only  con- 
dition on  which  mind  can  be  conceived  of  or  recognized, 
and  that,  consequently,  if  we  have  any  knowledge  of  God 
as  a  mind,  it  must  be  derived,  not  from  any  thing  ab  extra^ 
but  from  the  conscious  operation  of  our  own  minds.  The 
fallacy  by  which  we  seem  to  derive  our  notions  of  mind 
from  without,  is  much  like  that  by  which  we  suppose  the 
existence  of  color  in  the  object.  We  see  in  external 
things,  operations  more  or  less  resembling  those  which 
mind  produces,  and  we  suppose,  that  it  is  from  those  ope- 
rations that  our  knowledge  of  the  operating  mind  is  ob- 
tained ;  whereas  the  recognition  of  any  such  operation  as 
belonging  to  mind,  supposes  in  us  a  similar  previous  ope- 
ration with  which  we  compare  it,  and  without  such  pre- 
vious operation  in  us  from  which  we  really  obtain  the 
idea,  and  by  which  we  make  the  comparison,  the  knowl- 
edge of  mind  is  impossible. 

The  brutes  do  not  and  cannot  know  God,  because  they 
have  in  themselves  none  of  those  elements  which  consti- 
tute his  character  as  God,  and  man  can  only  know  him,  in 
so  far  as  he  is  made  in  the  image  of  God,  in  respect  to  the 
kind  of  faculties  which  he  possesses.  Certainly  it  is  only 
by  the  transference  to  God  of  the  elements  contained  in 
our  minds,  that  we  can  form  any  conception  of  him.  If, 
therefore,  there  be  any  thing  in  reference  to  which  we  are 
not  formed  in  the  image  of  God,  in  respect  to  the  kind  of 
faculties  which  we  possess,  then,  so  far  forth  as  those 
faculties  exist  in  him,  he  is  no  God  to  us.  As  we  can 
have  no  idea  of  the  qualities  of  matter,  except  those  de- 
rived from  the  senses  which  we  possess,  so  we  can  have 
none  of  the  attributes  of  mind,  except  those  derived  from 


as 

our  own  mental  powers.  We  can  conceive  of  reason,  of 
conscience,  of  free-will,  of  wisdom,  and  goodness,  because 
we  have  the  principles  of  these  things  in  ourselves,  and 
we  can  suppose  them  to  be  extended  till  they  become  in- 
finite or  perfect  ;  but  if,  besides  these  and  other  powers 
which  we  may  possess,  there  are  in  God  still  other  per- 
fections, we  cannot  conceive  of  them ;  they  are  to  us  as 
though  they  were  not. 

The  above  powers  or  attributes  are  those  which  chiefly 
go  to  form  our  idea  of  God,  and  without  them  he  would 
not  exist  as  God  to  us.  But  the  idea  of  them  is  not  de- 
rived to  us  from  nature,  in  the  usual  sense  of  that  term ; 
they  have  nothing  to  do  with  contrivance  ;  they  come  to 
us  from  the  fact  of  the  existence  of  our  minds,  and  from 
the  original,  spontaneous  operation  of  the  faculties  with 
which  they  are  endowed.  We  might  see  nature  move  on 
forever,  and  not  have  the  least  idea  of  conscience  or  free- 
will, unless  we  found  them  existent  in  ourselves. 

Let  us  suppose  then  two  systems :  the  one  containing 
contrivance  more  perfect,  if  possible,  than  the  present ; 
the  other,  and  we  may  suppose  it,  for  we  believe  it  to  ex- 
ist, consisting  of  minds  disencumbered  of  matter,  possess- 
ing spontaneous  activity,  thought,  free-will,  reason,  con- 
science, judgment,  affections.  Each  of  these  we  suppose 
to  be  an  effect.  Which  of  them,  we  ask,  would  give  the 
most  decisive  evidence  of  the  existence,  in  its  cause,  of 
those  attributes,  the  union  of  which,  in  one  being,  consti- 
tutes our  idea  of  God — that  which  alone  would  be  able 
to  conceive  of  him,  and  would  contain  in  itself  faculties 
and  powers  similar  to  those  which  he  possesses ;  or  that 
which  would  not?  The  answer  to  this  question  cannot 
be  doubtful.  Strange  indeed  would  it  be,  if  the  mind, 
in  subserviency  to  which  the  body,  with  its  contrivances, 
was  evidently  made,  which  alone  can  apprehend  God,  and 
exhibit  godlike  manifestations,  should  furnish  less  evidence 
of  his  existence  than   the  contrivances  made  for  its  con- 


39 

venience.  Mind,  it  is  true,  is  not  mechanism ;  it  is  not, 
so  far  as  we  know,  a  contrivance  in  any  proper  sense  of 
that  term  ;  but  it  is  an  effect,  it  is  an  effect  siii  generis,  it  is 
the  highest  of  all  known  effects,  and  we  may  infer  from 
it,  in  regard  to  its  cause,  what  we  can  infer  from  no  other 
of  the  works  of  God,  even  that  he  is  not  only  "  the 
Former  of  our  bodies,"  but  "the  Father  of  our  spirits." 
We  see,  therefore,  that  the  existence  of  a  created  mind  is 
not  only  the  direct  and  proper  evidence  of  a  mind  that  cre- 
ated, but  that  it  is  the  only  condition  on  which  the  con- 
ception of  such  a  mind  can  be  formed,  or  the  knowledge 
of  it  brought  to  light.  We  see,  also,  that  all  the  impor- 
tant attributes  of  God,  those  without  which  he  would  not 
be  God,  are  derived  to  us  from  the  operations  of  our  own 
faculties,  and  not  at  all  from  nature  or  contrivance.  It 
would  seem  illogical,  then,  to  say  the  least,  to  derive  the 
chief,  and  indeed  the  only  evidence  for  the  existence  of 
God,  from  that  which  may  indeed  be  the  consequence  of 
his  existence  ;  but  which  does  not  contain  or  indicate  the 
main  elements  in  which  his  nature  and  character  consist. 

What,  then,  is  the  state  of  the  argument  from  cause  to 
effect  ?  Taking  along  with  us  the  principle  that  every 
event  must  have  an  adequate  cause,  our  first  assertion  is, 
that  something  now  exists.  This  we  prove,  or  rather  it 
is  self-evident,  from  the  senses  and  from  consciousness. 
The  inference  from  this  is,  that  something  must  have  al- 
ways existed,  since  no  one  supposes  that  something  can 
come  out  of  nothing — "  Ex  nihilo  nihil  fit.^^  Something, 
then,  having  existed  from  eternity,  we  inquire  what  that 
is.  Of  the  possibility  that  matter  has  always  been,  we 
need  say  nothing ;  but,  in  examining  its  modifications, 
we  find  marks  of  design  and  matchless  contrivance  ;  there 
must,  therefore,  have  been  a  contriver  capable  of  adapting 
means  to  ends.  But  this  power  of  contrivance  being  pos- 
sessed by  inferior  animals,  and  the  operations  of  nature 
being,   moreover,  in  many  respects,  strikingly  analogous 


40 

to  theirs,  we  do  not  yet  find  evidence  of  the  higher  and 
moral  attributes  of  mind  ;  or  if  we  discover  traces  of  wis- 
dom and  goodness,  they  are  so  obscure  as  to  render  it  un- 
certain whether  they  exist,  except  by  chance.  We  pass, 
therefore,  entirely  from  matter  and  its  modifications,  to 
mind.  Here  we  find,  as  an  effect,  all  the  attributes  which 
we  ascribe  to  God  as  a  cause.  Here  we  find  personality ; 
here  the  true  evidence  for  the  existence  of  a  personal  God. 
"He  that  planted  the  ear,  shall  he  not  hear?  He  that 
formed  the  eye,  shall  he  not  see  ?  He  that  teacheth  man 
knowledge^  shall  not  he  know  ?  " 

It  only  remains  to  show,  and  we  may  do  it  in  a  word, 
that  the  powers  that  cause  the  grass  to  spring,  and  uphold 
the  order  of  the  heavens,  belong  to  the  same  being  who 
created  the  mind,  and  who  consequently  possesses  the  high- 
est intellectual  and  moral  attributes  of  which  we  can  con- 
ceive. The  body  of  man  is  one  of  the  productions  of 
nature,  is  formed  in  like  manner,  and  with  like  proofs  of 
contrivance  with  its  other  parts.  Of  this,  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  But  the  adaptation  of  the  body  to  the  mind,  and 
their  mutual  action  on  each  other,  render  it  certain  that  one 
being  was  the  author  of  both.  It  follows,  of  course,  that 
he  who  made  the  human  mind,  and  endowed  it  with  its 
faculties,  is  possessed  of  those  illimitable  powers  which 
carry  on  the  course  of  nature,  as  well  as  of  the  highest 
possible  attributes  of  intelligence. 

This  intelligence  must  of  course  be  present  in  connec- 
tion with  those  amazing  powers,  wherever,  through  the 
immensity  of  space,  the  operations  of  nature  extend.  We 
have,  therefore,  as  the  source  of  all  things,  as  the  princi- 
ple of  unity  in  all  things,  instead  of  a  blhid,  unconscious 
principle,  which  general  laws  would  seem  to  indicate,  and 
which  men  call  nature,  or  by  whatever  name  pleases  them, 
one,  free,  all-pervading,  all-inspecting,  all-comprehending, 
personal  God,  from  whose  presence  we  cannot  escape, 
from  whose  Spirit  we  cannot  flee.     We  have  also  these 


41 

general  laws,  now  assuming  the  form  of  his  stated  and 
most  wise  administration,  the  operation  of  which,  when 
the  greatness  of  the  emergency  demands  it,  he  still  stands 
ready  to  suspend. 

Such,  with  the  expansion  and  particular  applications  of 
which  it  will  be  seen  at  once  that  it  is  susceptible,  is  the 
argument  from  cause  to  effect,  when  pushed  to  its  proper 
point.  Thus  stated,  we  see  not  hoAV  it  can  be  evaded  by 
one  who  does  not  deny  first  principles,  and  thus  destroy 
the  foundations  of  all  knowledge.  It  goes  upon  no  prin- 
ciple or  assumption,  that  is  not  involved  in  the  argument 
from  design,  the  true  force  of  which  we  shall  not  be  sus- 
pected of  any  desire  to  diminish.  Our  only  wish  is,  to 
show  the  foundations  on  which  the  pillars  of  truth  in  fact 
rest,  since  they  always  appear  more  massive  and  imposing 
when  seen  as  they  really  are.  We  cannot  doubt, — as  men 
are  freed  from  the  bondage  of  a  material  and  atheistic  phi- 
losophy, as  the  knowledge  of  mind  is  seen  to  be  equally 
certain  as  that  of  matter,  and  the  great  facts  of  spiritual 
consciousness  are  more  distinctly  apprehended  and  more 
fully  rested  on, — that  the  department  of  the  creation  of 
God,  which  alone  is  in  direct  communion  with  him,  will 
be  seen  to  be  that  upon  which  the  evidence  of  his  being 
and  high  attributes  is  most  legibly  enstamped. 

In  corroboration  of  this,  we  now  return  to  the  work,  the 
title  of  which  is  placed  at  the  head  of  this  article,  though, 
as  the  reviewers  are  wont  to  say,  we  have  already  occupied 
so  much  space,  that  our  notice  of  it  must  be  brief  Sooth 
to  say,  the  body  of  this  article  was  written  before  this 
work  came  to  hand,  and  we  availed  ourselves  of  it,  chiefly 
for  the  purpose  of  showing  that  Ave  are  not  singular  in 
the  views  we  have  taken.  Aside  from  its  general  ability, 
we  welcome  it  as  the  first  work  of  the  kind  which  has 
fallen  under  our  notice,  in  which  the  logic  of  inferring 
from  the  effect  only  a  similarity  of  cause,  has  been  ad- 
hered to.  The  author,  it  is  true,  takes  no  formal  excep- 
6 


42 

tioii  to  the  argument  from  design ;  but  he  does  this  vir- 
tually, since  he  bases  the  general  argument  precisely  as 
we  have  done.  The  only  extracts  which  our  limits  will 
allow,  must  bear  upon  this  point.  They  will,  at  the  same 
time,  furnish  a  happy  instance  of  the  particular  applica- 
tion of  the  argument  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  give 
such  a  specimen  of  the  work,  as  we  hope  may  lead  our 
readers  to  its  entire  perusal. 

"  All  men  are  perpetually  led  to  form  judgments  concerning 
actions,  and  emotions  which  lead  to  action,  as  right  or  wrong  ; 
as  what  they  uughtox  ought  not  to  do  or  feel.  There  is  a  faculty 
which  approves  or  disapproves,  acquits  or  condemns  the  work- 
ings of  our  other  faculties.  Now,  what  shall  we  say  of  such  a 
judiciary  principle,  thus  introduced  among  our  motives  to  action? 
Shall  we  conceive  that  while  the  other  springs  of  action  are 
balanced  against  each  other  by  our  Creator,  this,,  the  most  per- 
vading and  universal  regulator,  was  no  part  of  the  original 
scheme?  That — while  the  love  of  animal  pleasures,  of  power, 
of  fame,  the  regard  for  friends,  the  pleasure  of  bestowing  pleas- 
ure, were  infused  into  man  as  inMuences  by  which  his  course  of 
life  was  to  be  carried  on,  and  his  capacities  and  powers  developed 
and  exercised  ; — this  reverence  for  a  moral  law,  this  acknow- 
ledgment of  the  obligation  of  duty, — a  feeling  which  is  every 
where  found,  and  which  may  become  a  powerful,  a  predominating 
motive  of  action, — was  given  for  no  purpose,  and  belongs  not  to 
the  design  ?  Such  an  opinion  would  be  much  as  if  we  should 
acknowledge  the  skill  and  contrivance  manifested  in  the  other 
parts  of  a  ship,  but  should  refuse  to  recognize  the  rudder  as  ex- 
hibiting any  evidence  of  a  purpose.  Without  the  reverence 
which  the  opinion  of  right  inspires,  and  the  scourge  of  general 
disapprobiUion  inflicted  on  that  which  is  accounted  wicked, 
society  could  scarcely  go  on  ;  and  certainly  the  feelings  and 
thoughts  and  characters  of  men  could  not  be  what  they  are. 
Those  impulses  of  nature  which  involve  no  acknowledgment  of 
responsibility,  and  the  play  and  struggle  of  interfering  wishes, 
might  preserve  the  species  in  st)me  shape  of  existence,  as  we  see 
in  the  case  of  brutes.  But  a  person  must  be  strangely  consti- 
tuted, who,  living  amid  the  respect  for  law,  the  admiration  of 
what  is  good,  the  order  and  virtues  and  graces  of  civilized 
nations,  (all  which  have  their  origin  in  some  degree  in  the  feel- 
ing of  responsibility,)  can  maintain  that  all  these  are  casual  and 
extraneous  circumstances,  noway  contemplated  in  the  formation 
of  man  ;  and  that  a  condition  in  which  there  should  be  no  obli- 
gation in  law,  nu  merit  in  self-restraint,  no   beauty  in  virtue,  is 


43 

equally  suited  to  the  powers  and  the  nature  of  man,  and  was 
equally  contemplated  when  those  powers  were  given  him. 

"If  this  supposition  be  too  extravagant  to  be  admitted,  as  it 
appears  to  be,  it  remains  then  that  man,  intended,  as  we  have 
already  seen  from  his  structure  and  properties,  to  be  a  discours- 
ing, social  being,  acting  under  the  influence  of  affections,  de- 
sires, and  purposes,  was  also  intended  to  act  under  the  influence 
of  a  sense  of  duty  ;  and  that  the  acknowledgment  of  the  obli- 
gation of  a  moral  law  is  as  much  part  of  his  nature,  as  hunger 
or  thirst,  maternal  love  or  the  desire  of  power  ;  that,  therefore,  in 
conceiving  man  as  the  work  of  a  Creator,  we  must  imagine  his 
powers  and  character  given  him  with  an  intention  on  the  Crea- 
tor's part  that  this  sense  of  duty  should  occupy  its  place  in  his 
constitution  as  an  active  and  thinking  being :  and  that  this 
directive  and  judiciary  principle  is  a  part  of  the  work  of  the  same 
Author  who  made  the  elements  to  minister  to  the  material  func- 
tions, and  the  arrangements  of  the  world  to  occupy  the  individual 
and  social  affections  of  his  living  creatures. 

*'  This  principle  of  conscience,  it  may  be  further  observed, 
does  not  stand  upon  the  same  level  as  the  other  impulses  of  our 
constitution  by  which  we  are  prompted  or  restrained.  By  its 
very  nature  and  essence,  it  possesses  a  supremacy  over  all  others. 
*  Your  obligation  to  obey  this  law  is  its  being  the  law  of  your  na- 
ture. That  your  conscience  approves  of  and  attests  such  a 
course  of  action  is  itself  alone  an  obligation.  Conscience  does 
not  only  offer  itself  to  show  us  the  way  we  should  walk  in,  but 
it  likewise  carries  its  own  authority  with  it,  that  it  is  our  natural 
guide:  the  guide  assigned  us  by  the  author  of  our  nature.'* 
That  we  ought  to  do  an  action,  is  of  itself  a  sufiicient  and  ulti- 
mate answer  to  the  questions,  v^liy  we  should  do  it? — how  we 
are  uhliged  to  do  it  ?  The  conviction  of  duty  implies  the 
soundest  reason,  the  strongest  obligation,  of  which  our  nature 
is  susceptible. 

"  We  appear  then  to  be  using  only  language  which  is  well 
capable  of  being  justified,  when  we  speak  of  this  irresistible 
esteem  for  what  is  riglit,  tliis  conviction  of  a  rule  of  action  ex- 
tending beyond  the  gratification  of  our  irreflective  impulses,  as 
an  impress  stamped  upon  the  human  mind  by  the  Deity  himself; 
a  trace  of  His  nature  ;  an  indication  of  Ilis  will ;  an  announce- 
ment of  His  purpose  ;  a  promise  of  His  favor  :  and  though  this 
faculty  may  need  to  be  confirmed  and  unfolded,  instructed  and 
assisted  by  other  aids,  it  still  seems  to  contain  in  itself  a  sufiicient 
intimation  that  the  highest  objects  of  man's  existence  are  to  be 
attained,  by  means  of  a  direct  and  intimate  reference  of  his 
thoughts  and  actions  to  the  Divine  Author  of  his  being. 

"Such,  then,  is  the  Deity  to  which  the  researches  of  natural 

*  Butler,  Serm.  3. 


44 

theology  point ;  and  so  far  is  the  train  of  reflections  in  which  we 
have  engaged,  from  being  merely  speculative  and  barren.  With 
the  material  world  we  cannot  stop.  If  a  superior  Intelligence 
have  ordered  and  adjusted  the  succession  of  seasons  and  the 
structure  of  the  plants  of  the  field,  we  must  allow  far  more  than 
this  at  first  sight  would  seem  to  imply.  We  must  admit  still 
greater  powers,  still  higher  wisdom  for  the  creation  of  the  beasts 
of  the  forest  with  their  faculties ;  and  higher  wisdom  still  and 
more  transcendent  attributes,  for  the  creation  of  man.  And 
when  we  reach  this  point,  we  find  that  it  is  not  knowledge  only, 
not  power  only,  not  foresight  and  beneficence  alone,  which  we 
must  attribute  to  the  Maker  of  the  World ;  but  that  we  must 
consider  him  as  the  Author,  in  us,  of  a  reverence  for  moral 
purity  and  rectitude  ;  and,  if  the  author  of  such  emotions  in  us, 
how  can  we  conceive  of  Him  otherwise,  than  that  these  qualities 
are  parts  of  his  nature  ;  and  that  he  is  not  only  wise  and  great, 
and  good,  incomparably  beyond  our  highest  conceptions,  but  also 
conformed  in  his  purposes  to  the  rule  which  he  thus  impresses 
upon  us,  that  is.  Holy  in  the  highest  degree  which  we  can 
imagine  to  ourselves  as  possible." 

Again : 

"  But  with  sense  and  consciousness  the  history  of  living  things 
only  begins.  They  have  instincts,  affections,  passions,  will. 
How  entirely  lost  and  bewildered  do  we  find  ourselves  when  we 
endeavor  to  conceive  these  faculties  communicated  by  means  of 
general  laws !  Yet  they  are  so  communicated  from  God,  and  of 
such  laws  he  is  the  lawgiver.  At  what  an  immeasurable  interval 
is  he  thus  placed  above  every  thing  which  the  creation  of  the  in- 
animate world  alone  would  imply ;  and  how  far  must  he  transcend 
all  ideas  founded  on  such  laws  as  we  find  there! " 

To  these  it  will  suffice  to  add  a  single  brief  extract  ; 
and  we  do  it,  partly  because  it  seems  indirectly  to  recog- 
nize the  truth  of  the  assertion  made  by  some,  that  our 
capacity  of  conceiving  of  God,  is  itself  a  proof  of  his 
existence. 

"  It  would  indeed  be  extravagant  to  assert  that  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  creature,  itself  the  work  of  God,  can  invent  a  higher 
point  of  goodness,  of  justice,  of  holiness,  than  the  Creator  him- 
self possesses  :  that  the  Eternal  Mind,  from  whom  our  notions  of 
good  and  right  are  derived,  is  not  himself  directed  by  the  rules 
which  these  notions  imply." 


45 

There  are  several  parts  of  this  work  which  we  would 
gladly  notice ;  but  we  can  only  commend  to  the  especial 
attention  of  our  readers  the  two  original  chapters,  one  on 
inductive,  the  other  on  deductive  habits.  In  these  the 
author  shows,  together  with  the  reason  of  it,  that  the 
great  discoverers  in  the  several  departments  of  nature 
have  been  theists ;  and  accounts  philosophically  for  the 
deplorable  atheism  of  such  men  as  Laplace. 


46 


ON  HUMAN   HAPPINESS 


Had  we  more  skiU  and  less  honesty,  we  should  be 
tempted  to  introduce  our  readers  into  the  main  current  of 
the  following  article,  by  a  side-cut^  which  should  enter  at 
an  angle  so  acute  that  the  point  of  transition  might  not  be 
noticed.  We  might  thus,  for  a  time  at  least,  beguile  those 
whose  distaste  may  now  be  awakened  by  their  first  glance 
at  a  subject  upon  which  so  much  that  is  common-place 
has  been  said  and  written.  But  we  have  no  such  arts ; 
and  with  that  portion  of  our  readers  who  prefer  the  useful 
to  the  novel  and  the  briUiant,  we  hope  not  to  need  them. 
Not  that  we  should  expect  a  result  immediately  striking, 
even  if  we  could  establish  a  correct  theory  of  human  hap- 
piness, and  cause  it  to  be  universally  received.  Far  from 
it.  Habits  of  action  are  slowly  formed,  and  slowly  modi- 
fied. No  man  is  as  good  or  as  bad,  as  happy  or  as  un- 
happy, as  his  speculative  principles  would  make  him. 
When  once  society  is  put  in  motion,  it  gains  a  momentum 
which  bears  it  on  in  the  same  direction  after  the  forces 
which  first  impelled  it  are  withdrawn ;  and  a  gradual 
power  must  be  applied,  an  elastic  cable  must  be  thrown 
around  it,  before  the  prow  can  be  turned,  and  the  sails  set 
in  another  direction.  Still,  the  conduct  of  a  rational 
being,  or  rather,  of  one  who  acts  rationally,  must,  to  a 
great  extent,  be  influenced  by  his  theoretical  opinions. 
Hence,  as  liappiness  depends  upon  conduct,  to  establish 
one  principle,  to  fix  one  wavering  idea,  to  shed  one  ray  of 
light  on  this  subject,  may  do  more  for  human  well-being, 


47 

than  would  be  done  by  discovering  the  cause  of  the 
aurora  borealis,  or,  were  that  possible,  by  an  analysis  of 
the  moon. 

Of  modern  disquisitions  on  this  subject,  probably  the 
chapter  of  Paley,  in  his  Moral  Philosophy,  which  treats 
of  it,  is  more  read  and  studied  than  any  other,  as  that 
work  still  holds  its  place  in  many  of  our  seminaries  of 
learning.  That  chapter  was  written  by  a  shrewd  ob- 
server ;  it  contains  observations  of  great  practical  signifi- 
cance, and  it  is  not  without  reason  that  it  has  had  a  high 
degree  of  popularity.  It  is  even  quoted  as  one  of  the 
happiest  efforts  of  Paley,  by  those  who  dissent  altogether 
from  the  doctrines  of  his  system  of  morals.  But  as  the 
grounds  of  duty  and  of  happiness  must  be  closely  associ- 
ated, it  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  one  who  failed  to 
give  a  correct  account  of  the  one,  should  succeed  entirely 
in  his  exposition  of  the  other.  Accordingly,  we  think  that 
he  has  advanced  several  erroneous  opinions,  the  tendency 
of  which,  if  they  were  acted  upon,  would  be  highly  per- 
nicious ;  and  that  the  whole  discussion  is  slight,  and  de- 
ficient in  general  principles.  It  will  be  our  purpose  in 
the  following  pages,  to  show  the  grounds  of  this  opinion, 
from  an  examination  of  that  chapter ;  and  then  to  make 
some  observations  on  the  general  subject. 

In  his  introductory  remarJcs,  Paley  asserts  that  all  en- 
joyments are  homogeneous.  This  is  the  first  point  that 
we  shall  consider,  for  we  believe  that  there  is  a  radical 
difference  between  different  enjoyments,  or,  as  we  choose 
to  say,  between  pleasure  and  happiness.  On  this  subject 
he  says ;  "  I  will  omit  much  usual  declamation  on  the 
dignity  and  capacity  of  our  nature,  the  superiority  of  the 
soul  to  the  body,  of  the  rational  to  the  animal  part  of  our 
constitution,  upon  the  worthiness,  refinement,  and  delicacy 
of  some  satisfactions,  or  the  meanness,  grossness  and  sen- 
suality of  others,  because  I  hold  that  pleasures  difler  in 


48 

nothing  but  in  continuance  and  intensity."  And  here  he 
cannot  mean  that  there  is  no  proper  distinction  between 
gross  and  refined  pleasures,  since  he  says  a  few  hues  be- 
low ;  "  By  the  pleasures  of  sense  I  mean,  as  well  the  ani- 
mal gratifications  of  eating  and  drinking,  &c.  as  the  more 
refined  pleasures  of  music,  painting,  architecture,  garden- 
ing, splendid  shows,  theatric  exhibitions  ;  and  the  pleas- 
ures, lastly,  of  active  sports,  as  of  hunting,  fishing,"  &ic. 
As  therefore,  he  allows  some  pleasures  to  be  more  refined 
than  others,  what  he  means  to  assert  must  be  that  refined 
pleasures  are  no  better  than  those  that  are  gross.  And  as 
the  other  distinctions  mentioned  by  him  of  worthiness 
and  delicacy  are  equally  common,  he  must,  for  the  same 
reason,  admit  their  propriety,  but  would  hold  that  delicate 
pleasures  are  no  better  than  those  that  are  indelicate ;  and 
worthy  pleasures  no  better  than  those  that  are  unworthy, 
which  is  a  contradiction  in  terms.  But  not  to  insist  on 
this,  which  only  shows  how  difficult  it  is  for  a  man  to  use 
the  language  of  mankind  in  contradicting  their  common 
judgment,  without  contradicting  himself,  we  will  appeal 
directly  for  the  existence  of  the  distinction  contended  for, 
to  the  only  proper  tribunal,  to  the  consciousness  and  com- 
mon sentiments  of  mankind.  When  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
wounded  and  faint  on  the  field  of  battle,  was  about  rais- 
ing to  his  parched  lips  the  only  cup  of  water  to  be  had, 
he  saw  a  soldier  whom  they  were  bearing  past,  still  more 
severely  wounded,  look  wishfully  upon  it.  He  imme- 
diately withdrew  the  cup  and  said  ;  ''  Give  it  him,  for  he 
is  more  needy  than  I."  Do  we  then  feel  that  there  was 
no  difference  in  kind,  between  the  satisfaction  derived 
from  that  act,  and  that  which  he  would  have  found  in 
drinking  the  water  ?  Do  we  feel  that  there  is  no  essential 
difference  between  the  pleasures  of  the  selfish,  brutified 
sensualist,  and  the  satisfaction  which  Howard  felt,  in  his 
self-denying  efforts  to  remove  ignorance  and  mitigate 
wretchedness  ?     No  difference  between  the  pleasure  of  the 


49 

pagan  in  devouring  human  flesh,  and  the  enjoyment  of 
the  missionaiy  when  he  sees  intelligence,  civilization,  and 
Christianity,  taking  the  place,  through  his  labors,  of  the 
darkness  and  degradations  of  heathenism  ?  We  should 
both  despise  and  detest  the  man,  who,  when  the  case  was 
distinctly  put,  should  prefer  the  pleasures  of  a  debauch, 
to  the  relief  of  a  poor  family  suffering  from  cold  and  hun- 
ger. Surely  it  is  not  in  the  mouths  of  declaimers  only, 
that  we  find  the  distinction  made  between  the  dignity 
and  worth  of  some  pleasures,  and  the  meanness  and  crimi- 
nality of  others.  Nothing  is  more  universally  recognized, 
or  more  regarded  in  the  estimation  which  we  form  of  the 
characters  of  others. 

But  it  may  be  said,  this  is  declamation,  and  not  argu- 
ment. Let  us  then,  as  the  point  is  an  important  one,  turn 
to  argument,  and  not  rest  on  the  appeal,  Avhich,  however, 
we  still  affirm  is  argument.  And  here  we  observe  that 
the  proposition  of  Paley  takes  it  for  granted  that  there  is 
no  essential  difference  between  a  brute  and  a  spiritual 
being.  We  judge  of  the  effect  from  the  cause,  and  re- 
ciprocally, of  the  cause  from  the  effect.  If  there  were 
two  beings  entirely  different  in  their  nature,  different  in 
kind,  we  should  infer  that  their  enjoyments  would  differ, 
not  alone  "in  continuance  and  intensity,"  but  also  in 
quality ;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  their  enjoyments  were  the 
same  in  kind,  we  should  infer  infallibly,  that  the  beings 
were  also.  But  the  grosser  sensual  pleasures  are  enjoyed 
by  brutes  as  perfectly  as  by  man.  It  is  not  therefore 
requisite  to  the  enjoyment  of  them,  that  the  material  or- 
ganization should  have  any  connection  with  rational  and 
moral  powers.  But  if  man  has  a  spiritual  part  distinct 
from  the  body,  though  connected  with  it,  possessed  of 
rational  and  moral  powers  capable  of  contemplating  the 
infinite,  the  eternal,  the  beautiful,  the  true,  and  the  good, 
we  should  naturally  suppose  that  the  enjoyment  to  be  de- 
rived from  the  exercise  of  these  powers,  would  be  as  dif- 
7 


60 

ferent  as  the  subjects  of  the  powers  themselves,  as  mind 
and  matter,  which,  Paley  himself  would,  no  doubt,  allow, 
differ  in  kind,  or  at  least,  that  they  may  so  differ.  This 
natural  expectation,  confirmed  by  the  common  language 
and  feelings  of  mankind,  is  met  by  a  bare  assertion  with- 
out proof  or  confirmation,  and  we  are  expected  to  believe 
that  the  intellectual  happiness  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  in  his 
highest  contemplations,  and  most  complete  abstraction 
from  sensual  pleasures,  differed  only  in  continuance  and 
intensity  from  the  gross  pleasures  of  the  debauchee,  which 
might  be  as  well  enjoyed  without  a  soul  as  with  one,  and 
in  some  respects  even  better.  We  are  expected  to  believe 
the  same  of  the  moral  pleasures  of  him,  who,  in  the 
struggle  between  obduracy  and  penitence,  between  selfish- 
ness and  love,  resigns  himself  into  the  hands  of  his  Maker, 
and  feels  in  his  union  with  "the  first  good,  first  perfect, 
and  first  fair,"  not  in  nature  only,  but  in  affection,  a  se- 
curity which  causes  the  face  of  nature  to  be  irradiated 
with  a  smile,  and  casts  the  light  of  hope  over  an  illimit- 
able future  that  was  dark  before.  Such  moments  occur, 
and  though  they  may  quickly  pass,  how  often  do  we  hear 
those  to  whom  they  come,  affirm  that  they  then  first  knew 
what  happiness  was  ?  It  is  not,  however,  of  human 
behigs  alone,  that  we  are  to  believe  this ;  but  also  that  the 
enjoyments  of  Gabriel  differ  in  nothing  except  in  continu- 
ance and  intensity  from  those  of  an  oyster ;  and  then,  if 
there  is  no  difference  in  kind  between  the  pleasures,  if  we 
choose  to  call  them  so,  of  the  two  beings,  neither  can 
there  be  any  between  the  beings  themselves,  and  Gabriel 
is  only  an  imperishable,  a  more  susceptible,  and  more  for- 
tunate brute.  Did  not  an  apprehension  of  irreverence 
forbid  it,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  argument  might  be  car- 
ried still  further.  So  different,  indeed,  are  different  kinds 
of  enjoyment,  that  we  do  not  suppose  that  a  spiritual 
being  less  than  infinite,  having  never  been  embodied,  can 
conceive  of  pleasures  merely  sensual.     The  minor  enigma 


51 

of  tiifFerent  kinds  of  enjoyment  in  the  same  being,  will 
find  its  solution,  in  common  with  many  others,  in  the  so- 
lution of  the  greater  enigma  of  man — in  tlie  union  in  him 
of  two  natures  or  kinds  of  being,  the  one  spiritual,  im- 
perishable, and  possessed  of  powers ;  the  other  animal, 
perishable,  and  possessed  of  susceptibilities. 

But  we  remark  again,  that  this  doctrine  of  the  homo- 
geneousness  of  all  enjoyment,  takes  it  for  granted  that 
there  is  no  difference  between  virtue  and  vice,  except  in 
their  consequences.  .  In  this  indeed  Paley  is  consistent, 
since  it  enters  into  his  whole  system,  and  is,  as  it  seems 
to  us,  a  radical  defect.  Here  again,  we  reason  from  the 
effect  to  the  cause.  If  there  is  no  difference  in  kind  in 
the  pleasures  to  be  derived  from  different  courses,  neither 
can  there  be  between  the  courses  themselves.  Thepleas- 
ures  of  sin,  is  an  intelligible  phrase — there  are  pleasures 
of  sin.  But  the  happiness  of  sin,  is  a  contradiction  ;  we 
might  as  well  talk  of  the  virtue  of  sin.  But  if  all  pleas- 
ures are  alike  in  kind,  the  pleasures  of  debauchery,  or  of 
revenge,  are  just  as  noble,  just  as  worthy  of  a  rational 
creature,  as  the  satisfactions  of  virtue  ;  the  only  difference 
is,  that  they  are  followed  by  unpleasant  consequences. 
Mankind  have  unfortunately  conjured  up  certain  "  preju- 
dices and  habits,"  from  which  Paley  thinks  that  natural 
conscience  cannot  be  distinguished,*  which  will  disturb 
them  after  the  enjoyment  of  these  laudable  pleasures. 
Nay  they  are  sometimes  so  unjust,  as  to  visit  a  man  with 
their  reprobation  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  same  kind  of 
pleasures  with  themselves,  though  he  may  not  have  been 
quite  so  judicious  in  the  selection.  Surely,  among  pleas- 
ures of  the  same  kind,  a  man  should  be  allowed  to  take 
his  choice  without  censure,  since,  from  variety  of  consti- 
tution and  temperament,  no  man  can  fairly  judge  for 
another.     The  vigorous  might  say  to  the  feeble  ;  ''The 

*  See  Moral  Philosophy,  Chapter  v.  neax  the  close. 


62 

pleasures  of  knowledge  and  virtue  are  no  doubt  desir^le, 
and  it  may  be  well  for  you  to  study  and  deny  yourself, 
since  you  can  attain  them  in  no  other  way ;  but  for  me, 
I  am  determined  to  come  at  the  same  kind  of  pleasures 
by  eating  and  drinking."  We  appeal  to  our  readers, 
whether,  of  the  numerous  instances  which  must  have 
fallen  under  their  observation,  in  which  this  process  has 
been  undertaken,  they  have  ever  known  one  to  succeed. 
On  this  system,  vice  is  only  folly,  and  not  guilt ;  and  he 
who  pursues  a  vicious  course  is  perhaps  to  be  pitied  for 
his  defect  of  judgment,  but  not  to  be  condemned.  The 
only  ground  too,  of  the  authority  of  reason  and  conscience 
over  the  instincts  and  passions,  is,  not  that  they  give  us 
any  notion  of  what  is  good  and  right  in  itself,  but  because 
they  are  more  knowing  and  far-sighted. 

From  the  preceding  considerations  we  hope  it  will  ap- 
pear, that  there  must  be  somewhere  a  fundamental  dis- 
tinction between  pleasure  and  happiness.  It  would  ap- 
pear indeed,  from  a  note  in  which  he  refers  to  it,  that 
Paley  himself  could  not  entirely  divest  his  mind  of  the 
idea  of  its  existence.  The  following  is  his  account  of  it. 
<'If,"  says  he,  "any  positive  signification,  distinct  from 
what  we  mean  by  pleasure,  can  be  affixed  to  the  term 
happiness,  I  should  take  it  to  denote  a  certain  state  of  the 
nervous  system  in  that  part  of  the  human  frame  in  which 
we  feel  joy  and  grief,  passions  and  aff'ections.  Whether 
this  be  the  heart,  which  the  turn  of  most  languages  would 
lead  us  to  believe,  or  the  diaphragm,  as  Buffon,  or  the 
upper  orifice  of  the  stomach,  as  Van  Helmont  thought  ; 
or  rather  be  a  kind  of  network,  lining  the  whole  region  of 
the  prcECordia,  as  others  have  imagined ;  it  is  possible,  not 
only  that  each  painful  sensation  may  violently  shake  and 
disturb  the  fibres  for  the  time,  but  that  a  series  of  such 
may  at  length  so  derange  the  texture  of  the  system  as  to 
produce  a  perpetual  irritation,  which  will  show  itself  by 
fretfulness,  impatience,  and   restlessness.     It  is   possible 


53 

also,  on  the  other  hand,  that  a  succession  of  pleasurable 
sensations  may  have  such  an  effect  upon  this  subtle  or- 
ganization, as  to  cause  the  fibres  to  relax,  and  return  into 
their  place  and  order,  and  thereby  to  recover,  or,  if  not 
lost,  to  preserve  that  harmonious  conformation  which 
gives  to  the  mind  its  sense  of  complacency  and  satisfac- 
tion. This  state  may  be  denominated  happiness,"  &ic. 
We  are  not  about  to  spend  time  upon  this  passage.  What- 
ever the  true  notion  of  happiness  may  be,  the  above  state- 
ment, in  the  present  state  of  our  knowledge,  requires  no 
confutation.  Its  basis  is  a  degrading  materialism,  and  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  it  betrays  greater  ig- 
norance of  psychology  or  of  physiology.  On  this  system 
the  most  direct  way  to  happiness  would  be  the  study  of 
anatomy  and  medicine. 

But  if  Paley  has  given,  formally,  no  adequate  idea  of 
happiness,  has  he  not  succeeded  in  the  main  object  of  his 
chapter,  which  was  to  show  in  what  it  consists?  We 
think  not.  He  first  mentions  three  particulars  in  which 
happiness  does  not  consist ;  and  with  his  remarks  upon 
them  we  accord.  He  then  mentions  four  others,  in  which, 
according  to  him,  it  does  consist.  These  are  ;  "  The  ex- 
ercise of  the  social  affections;"  "The  exercise  of  our 
faculties  in  some  engaging  end ; "  "  A  prudent  constitu- 
tion of  habits;"  and  "Health."  And  here  we  may  just 
notice  the  inaccuracy  of  saying  that  happiness  consists  in 
any  other  thing,  for  instance,  in  health.  Happiness  may 
result  from  health,  but  it  consists  in  itself,  and  in  nothing 
else.  It  was  in  this  sense,  we  presume,  that  Paley  in- 
tended to  use  the  phrase. 

For  the  convenience  of  investigation,  we  shall  consider 
the  particulars  mentioned,  in  their  reverse  order.  The 
most  that  can  be  said  of  health,  is,  that  it  is  the  condition 
of  certain  pleasures,  and  valuable  pleasures ;  but  happi- 
ness is  so  far  from  consisting  in  it,  that  it  is  not  necessary 
to  happiness  even  as  a  condition.     It  would  certainly  be 


54 

going  too  far  to  say  of  every  man  in  health  that  he  is 
happy,  or  of  every  one  not  in  health  that  he  is  miserable. 
Even  on  Paley's  system,  a  man  out  of  health  may  exer- 
cise the  social  affections  and  consequently  be  happy. 
Health  is  desirable,  but  human  happiness  is  not  so  poor 
a  thing  as  to  be  dependent  on  every  casualty  by  which  it 
may  be  affected.  It  often  happens,  no  doubt,  that  the 
pains  of  ill  health  become  a  means  of  so  strengthening 
the  moral  powers,  of  so  promoting  a  calm  resignation,  and 
a  quick  and  active  sympathy  with  human  suffering,  that 
the  character  is  made  better,  more  valuable,  and  the  man 
more  happy.  ''He  is  to  be  pitied,"  says  Seneca,  ''whom 
the  gods  have  not  thought  worthy  to  suffer ;  "  and  suffer- 
ing in  this  way  may  answer  the  ends  of  moral  discipline 
as  well  as  in  any  other.  When  this  is  the  result  of  ill 
health,  or  indeed  of  any  suffering,  it  becomes  in  its  effects 
the  reverse  of  those  produced  by  the  roll  eaten  by  St. 
John,  which,  in  his  mouth  was  sweeter  than  honey,  but 
in  his  belly  was  bitter. 

But  if  happiness  does  not  consist  in  health,  neither 
does  it  in  a  prudent  constitution  of  habits.  Whatever  the 
end  proposed  by  any  man  may  be,  it  is  evident  that  he 
may  have,  in  Paley's  sense  of  it,  a  prudent  constitution  of 
habits — that  is,  he  may,  with  reference  to  one  end  as  well 
as  another,  "  so  cast  his  habits,  that  every  change  shall 
be  for  the  better."  If,  for  instance,  his  end  be  sensual 
pleasure,  he  may  form  habits  of  abstemiousness  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  that  his  pleasures  may  be  of  higher  relish  and 
longer  sustained.  The  doctrine  of  Paley  is,  that  what- 
ever is  habitual  becomes  indifferent,  and  that,  therefore, 
if  a  man  rushes  at  once  into  the  enjoyment  of  the  high- 
est pleasures,  and  continues  in  them,  satiety  soon  ensues, 
and  he  has  no  resource.  This  is  true  of  pleasure  properly 
so  called,  but  not  of  every  kind  of  enjoyment.  It  is  not 
true  of  a  life  of  virtue,  since,  the  longer  we  continue  in 
it,  and  the  more  eagerly  it  is  pursued,  the  more  it  is  en- 


55 

joyed.  In  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  the  senses,  there  is 
no  doubt  but  a  computation  may  be  made  on  the  principle 
of  'double  fellowship,' combining  quantity  and  time,  so 
as  to  secure  the  greatest  amount ;  but  since,  by  Paley's 
confession,  happiness  does  not  consist  in  the  pleasures  of 
sense  in  whatever  profusion,  he  Avho  makes  them  his  end 
cannot  be  happy,  however  good  his  constitution  of  habits 
in  regard  to  them  may  be.  It  follows,  therefore,  that 
though  a  prudent  constitution  of  habits  in  reference  to 
any  end  is  desirable,  yet,  whether  we  shall  obtain  happi- 
ness by  it,  depends,  not  on  the  habits,  but  on  the  ends 
which  we  pursue  in  their  formation. 

Nor  does  Paley  more  regard  the  end  to  be  pursued  when 
he  says  that  ''  happiness  consists  in  the  exercise  of  our 
faculties  in  some  engaging  end."  Indeed,  he  says  that  if, 
after  the  judgment  has  made  choice  of  an  end,  we  have 
command  of  imagination  so  as  to  be  able  to  transfer  a 
pleasure  to  the  mea?is,  the  end  may  be  forgotten  as  soon 
as  we  will.  Now  to  some  men,  and  on  some  occasions, 
revenge  is  a  very  engaging  end,  in  the  pursuit  of  which 
they  may  be  as  active  as  in  any  other — and  therefore  as 
happy.  If  to  have  an  end,  and  an  engaging  end,  were 
sufiicient  to  happiness,  most  men  would  be  happy.  But 
there  are  two  kinds  of  success  in  life.  One  consists  in 
the  attainment  of  the  particular  ends  we  have  in  view  j 
the  other,  which  is  true  success,  in  the  attainment  of  hap- 
piness. The  difficulty  is  not  so  much  that  men  fail  of 
assiduity  to  attain  particular  ends,  as  that  they  pursue 
those  which  are  wrong.  But  there  is  another  doctrine 
countenanced  by  Paley  under  this  head  which  we  cannot 
receive.  We  do  not  believe  that  life  is  a  mockery  ;  that 
we  are  necessitated  to  pursue  phantoms  for  the  activity  of 
the  pursuit,  and  that  there  are  no  ends  in  which  we  may 
rest,  as  good  in  themselves.  We  believe  that  we  may 
have  a  friend,  for  instance,  in  whom  our  affections  may 
rest  as  their  end,  and  find  satisfaction  without  reference  to 


66 

any  thing  further.  We  cannot  too  strongly  dissent  from 
the  philosophy  that  would  make  life  a  scene  of  aimless 
activity,  and  throw  men  into  the  turmoil,  that  they  may 
be  busy — that  says  to  the  ''  great  and  rich,"  that  it  does 
not  ''blame  them,"  that  "perhaps  they  cannot  do  better," 
than  to  "  frequent  the  horse-course  and  gaming-table," 
and  spend  "  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  pounds  to  gain  a 
contested  election,"  simply  that  they  may  relieve  them- 
selves of  the  burden  of  a  stagnant  existence.  That  the 
world  is  full  of  such  pursuit  to  a  degree  that  would  be- 
forehand be  thought  incredible,  is  true  ;  but  to  assert  that 
it  is  the  order  of  Providence,  that  it  is  necessary  to  hap- 
piness, or  even  compatible  with  it,  would  be  to  reproach 
our  Maker,  and  make  life  an  absurdity.  All  activity 
would  arise  from  mere  uneasiness,  and  not  from  the  pur- 
suit of  any  natural  and  proper  end,  and  we  should  be  sent 
into  the  world  under  a  delusion  much  like  that  of  the 
peasant  who  pursues  the  receding  rainbow  that  he  may 
find  the  money  buried  beneath  it — a  delusion  under  which 
it  would  be  fruitless  to  act,  which  it  would  be  misery  to 
discover.  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  health,  activity, 
and  habits,  which  are  only  activity  uniformly  directed,  are 
merely  facilities,  or  instruments,  which  being  wisely 
managed,  happiness  may  be  the  result,  but  which,  being 
abused  or  misdirected,  become  the  occasions  of  misery. 

It  only  remains  to  consider  the  social  aifections.  From 
these  we  are  willing  to  allow  that  happiness  may  result  ; 
but  still  we  contend  that  on  Paley's  principles  it  can  no 
more  be  said  to  consist  in  them,  than  in  the  pleasures  of 
sense.  If  there  is  nothing  but  pleasure,  and  all  pleasures 
are  of  the  same  kind,  then  happiness  must  consist  in 
whatever  gives  us  pleasure  ;  and  though  the  social  affec- 
tions may  be  the  source  of  more  happiness,  yet  they  are 
no  more  a  source  of  happiness  than  the  senses,  or  than 
any  thing  else  which  gives  us  a  series  of  pleasurable  emo- 
tions, not  excepting  vice  itself     Consistency,  therefore. 


57 

would  require  Paley  to  adopt  the  conclusions  of  Brown, 
who  says  that  ''  happiness  may  be  defined  to  be  a  state 
of  continued  agreeable  feeling,  dilTering  from  what  is  com- 
monly termed  pleasure  only  as  a  whole  differs  from  a  part  ; 
and  that  every  object,  the  remembrance,  or  possession,  or 
hope  of  which  is  agreeable,  is  a  source  of  happiness." 
On  the  system  of  Paley,  therefore,  the  social  affections 
have  no  more  claim  to  rank  among  the  sources  of  happiness 
than  many  other  things ;  and  though  we  allow  that  hap- 
piness results  from  them  in  their  own  proper  nature,  yet 
all  must  feel  that  any  view  which  should  confine  it  to 
them  alone,  would  be  fragmentary  and  entirely  inade- 
quate. 

It  matters  little  to  the  object  we  have  in  view,  whether 
Paley  can  or  cannot  be  defended  by  saying  that  his  object 
was  to  treat  of  happiness  only  in  a  popular  and  compara- 
tive sense.  His  book  is  studied  as  a  scientific  work  ;  and 
if  he  has  failed  to  make  essential  distinctions,  and  to  de- 
velope  fundamental  ideas  on  this  subject,  it  is  due  to  the 
cause  of  education  that  the  defect  should  be  pointed  out. 
That  he  has  thus  failed,  we  have  endeavored  as  briefly  as 
possible  to  show ;  and  shall  now,  as  was  proposed,  make 
some  remarks  on  the  general  subject,  which  we  hope  may 
furnish  hints  towards  placing  it  in  a  juster  light,  or  which 
may,  at  least,  elicit  the  efforts  of  those,  abler  and  more 
successful. 

Among  the  ancients,  the  question  concerning  the  sum- 
miim  bonum,  as  consisting  in  some  07ie  thing,  was  agitated 
with  more  interest  than  any  other,  and  was,  in  fact,  made 
to  include  almost  every  other  in  morals.  Varro  mentions 
that  there  were  two  hundred  and  ninety  different  opinions 
in  regard  to  it.  The  three  principal  sects,  however,  were 
the  Epicureans,  the  Stoics,  and  the  Peripatetics.  Of  these 
the  first  believed  it  to  consist  in  the  pleasures  of  sense, 
the  second  in  virtue,  and  the  third  in  virtue  exercised  in  a 
8 


58 

prosperous  life.  We  are  not  about  to  discuss  these  sys- 
tems. What  we  wish  to  observe  is,  the  very  general 
prevalence  among  them  of  an  idea  of  happiness  as  con- 
sisting in  some  one  thing,  or  at  least  as  not  admitting  any 
great  diversity  of  sources,  thus  indicating  an  almost  in- 
stinctive belief,  that  human  nature  has  some  one  end  in 
the  attainment  of  which  happiness  may  be  found.  We 
may  observe  running  through  the  speculations  of  the 
finest  minds  of  antiquity,  a  consciousness  of  something 
great  and  permanent  in  man,  fitted  to  be  the  basis  of  an 
enjoyment  independent  of  time  and  chance,  entirely 
above  and  out  of  the  casual  flux  and  reflux  of  mere  sensi- 
tive pleasure.  They  had  a  conception  of  a  higher  and 
purer  region,  of  permanent  being,  of  fixed  relations,  and 
of  constant  happiness.  Their  hold  of  this  was  sometimes 
feeble,  but  still  they  clung  to  it,  and  even  when  they 
ran  into  many  extravagances  and  paradoxes,  the  light  of 
this  great  idea  may  still  be  discerned  beaming  through 
their  misty  speculations.  Nor  has  this  idea  been  confined 
to  them.  Modern  philosophers  of  the  most  profound 
reflection,  and  who  have  made  the  most  sober  estimate 
of  the  human  faculties,  have  held  fast  to  the  same  idea  of 
a  real,  permanent,  satisfactory  good  of  which  human  na- 
ture is  capable ;  and  he  is  to  be  pitied  who  has  not,  in  his 
better  moments,  felt  its  inspiration.  The  question  is, 
What  is  that  good  ?  In  order  to  ascertain  this,  it  will  be 
necessary  to  consider  a  little  the  human  constitution,  and 
its  relations  to  the  objects  by  which  it  is  surrounded. 

The  condition  of  all  enjoyment,  is,  the  action  of  some 
facAilty  upon  its  appropriate  subject ;  or  the  excitement  hy 
its  appropriate  object  of  some  susceptibility.  We  can 
have  no  idea  of  any  enjoyment  in  any  other  way.  Could 
a  faculty  exist  without  action,  it  would  be  as  though  it 
were  not ;  were  it  to  act  without  its  object,  it  would  be 
only  an  indefinite  yearning,  giving  no  enjoyment  ;  but  the 
moment  it  meets  with  its  proper  object,  and  acts  upon 


59 

that,  it  gives  its  appropriate  satisfaction.  So  a  suscepti- 
bility, when  it  is  dormant,  must  remain  unfruitful,  but 
when  it  is  awakened  by  its  adapted  stimulus,  it  gives  the 
enjoyment  peculiar  to  it.  But  since  all  enjoyment  is  de- 
rived from  a  relation  of  some  part  of  the  human  consti- 
tution to  its  object,  in  what,  it  will  be  asked,  does  the 
difference  between  different  enjoyments,  or,  as  already 
mentioned,  between  pleasure  and  happiness  consist? 

This  inquiry  has  been  anticipated,  and  is  fundamental. 
The  answer  to  it  has  already  been  indicated  in  the  dis- 
tinction that  has  been  made  between  powers  and  suscep- 
tibilities. Man  is  capable  of  enjoyment  in  two  very  dif- 
ferent ways ;  he  is  acted  upon,  and  he  acts,  not  simply 
because  he  is  acted  upon,  but,  his  powers  having  been 
once  awakened,  by  his  own  proper  activity.  Men  and 
animals  are  constituted,  irrespectively  of  any  will  or  pur- 
pose of  their  own,  with  various  susceptibilities,  by  which 
they  are  placed  in  relation  to  other  things,  and  when 
these  susceptibilities  are  awakened  by  their  proper  objects, 
pleasure  is  the  result.  The  universe  is  full  of  this  beau- 
tiful mechanism  by  which  sensitive  natures  are  accommo- 
dated to  surrounding  objects,  and  that  kind  of  existence 
rendered  desirable.  In  this  point  of  view  the  works  of 
God  are  a  most  pleasing  subject  of  study.  The  mechan- 
ism of  this  kind  in  man — for  man  is  in  many  respects  as 
much  a  machine  as  a  steam-engine — is  very  complex,  and 
puts  him  in  relation  with  a  great  variety  of  objects  from 
which  he  is  capable  of  receiving,  or  more  properly,  which 
may  become  to  him  the  occasions  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
In  this  mechanism  we  include  every  thing  that  is  instinc- 
tive and  animal — all  that  part  of  the  frame  which  acts 
impulsively,  and  does  not  involve  the  idea  of  self- 
consciousness,  and  self-government.  What  then  is  the 
kind  of  enjoyment  thus  received,  and  how  far  is  man  ac- 
tive in  it  ?  He  who  opens  his  eyes  upon  a  landscape,  or 
has  a  rose  brought  near  him,  receives  a  pleasure  ;   but  it 


60 

depends  upon  a  constitution  of  himself  and  of  external 
objects,  entirely  independent  of  his  will,  and  not  necessa- 
rily connected  with  any  of  his  voluntary  or  moral  affec- 
tions. He  may  be  active  in  opening  his  eyes,  or  in  bring- 
ing the  rose  near ;  but  the  relation  between  the  organ  and 
the  object  being  brought  about,  no  matter  by  what  means, 
he  is  then  no  further  active  than  as  he  possesses  the  vi- 
tality and  the  susceptibility  which  must  be  the  condition 
of  any  pleasure.  Were  a  water-wheel  capable  of  a  mere 
pleasurable  sensation  when  the  water  pours  upon  it,  or  a 
stone  when  shone  upon  by  the  sun,  they  would  hold  the 
same  rank,  would  be  the  same  kind  of  thing,  as  man  con- 
sidered as  enjoying  pleasures  of  this  kind  unconnected 
with  any  other.  Superior  and  heightened  pleasures  of 
this  kind,  depending  on  an  exquisite  and  durable  structure 
of  the  sensitive  apparatus,  would  constitute  a  Mohamme- 
dan paradise.  These  enjoyments  are  common  to  man 
and  the  brutes,  in  many  of  which  they  are  doubtless  his 
superiors.  Some  of  them,  however,  as  those  of  the  eye 
and  ear,  are  doubtless  modified  and  increased  by  their 
connection  with  rational  powers. 

But  besides  these,  man  is  capable  of  enjoyments  of  a 
very  different  kind.  He  is  possessed  of  powers, — volun- 
tary, rational,  and  moral, — by  which  he  receives  the  ideas 
of  the  eternal,  the  infinite,  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the 
good  ;  and  it  is  in  the  voluntary  exercise  of  these  powers 
upon,  these  great  ideas,  in  their  various  relations  and  mani- 
festations in  the  Creator,  in  himself,  and  his  fellow- 
creatures,  that  he  derives  an  enjoyment  entirely  distinct 
from  that  before  mentioned  and  independent  of  it.  It  is 
from  the  voluntary  exercise  of  these  powers  upon  their 
appropriate  objects,  that  we  suppose  happiness  to  result. 
On  this  theory  happiness  can  result  only  from  the  exer- 
cise of  mind,  and  though  every  man  cannot  command 
the  means  of  pleasure,  yet  every  man  must  be  the  artificer 
of  liis  own  happiness. 


61 

This  is  no  more  than  was  to  have  been  expected. 
Every  being,  besides  those  appendages  by  which  it  is 
linked  into,  and  forms  a  part  of,  the  great  chain  of  being, 
has  its  own  proper  nature  pecuHar  to  itself,  and  it  is  from 
this  nature  that  its  enjoyment,  as  such  a  being  rather  than 
another,  must  arise.  The  powers  just  mentioned  are 
those  in  the  possession  and  activity  of  which  man  takes 
his  rank  and  possesses  enjoyment  as  man.  Nor  is  this 
distinction  small.  The  gradations  of  nature  are  indeed 
minute,  and  the  manner  in  which  she  causes  the  forms  of 
being  to  blend  into  each  other  as  she  passes  upward 
towards  the  summit  of  existence,  is  wonderful ;  but  still 
she  is  occasionally  obliged  in  her  progress  to  make  a 
stride,  and  pass  over  a  gulf  which  she  can  never  fill  up. 
Such  is  the  step  taken  in  her  passage  from  unorganized 
to  organized  matter ;  such  is  that  from  vegetable  to  ani- 
mal existence  ;  and  such  we  believe  that  to  have  been  by 
which  she  passed  from  brutes  to  man.  In  vain  does  she 
cause  the  sensitive  plant  to  mimic  animal  contractility — it 
is  still  a  plant.  In  vain  does  she  endow  the  oyster  with 
but  feeble  animal  powers— it  is  still  an  animal.  Equally 
in  vain  is  it  that  she  furnishes  animals  on  the  one  hand, 
with  instincts  and  adaptive  powers— they  are  animals  still ; 
or  on  the  other,  that  she  grants  to  some  men  but  the 
glimmerings  of  reason  and  conscience — they  are  still  men. 
Some  would  perhaps  say,  that  the  great  step  was  taken  in 
passing,  not  from  animals  to  men,  but  from  men  to  su- 
perior powers.  But  we  say.  No.  Man  is  made  in  the 
image  of  God,  and  therefore  possesses,  however  feebly,  the 
highest  possible  kind  of  powers.  He  is  but  "  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels."  Either,  therefore,  there  is  no  essential 
distinction  between  an  angel  and  a  brute,  or  man  must 
have  powers  in  the  activity  of  which  he  finds  an  enjoy- 
ment entirely  distinct  from  that  which  is  derived  through 
his  animal  nature.  The  former  of  these  we  term  happi- 
ness ;  the  latter,  pleasure ;  and  this  we  think  is  the  dif- 


62 

ference  which  mankind  at  large  have  in  their  minds  when 
they  use  these  terms  distinctively. 

We  shall  now  adduce  some  considerations  which  go  to 
confirm  and  elucidate  this  distinction.  And  here  we  may 
remark,  that  though  the  words  pain  and  misery  are  some- 
times used  indiscriminately,  yet  there  is  a  distinction 
generally  felt  and  made  between  them,  precisely  corres- 
ponding with  that  contended  for  between  pleasure  and 
happiness.  Pain  has  its  seat  in  the  sensitive  apparatus, 
and  results  from  the  action  upon  it  of  objects  unadapted 
to  its  nature ;  misery  has  its  seat  in  the  mind,  and  gene- 
rally results  from  a  voluntary  and  criminal  misapplication 
of  its  powers.  Accordingly,  as  there  is  no  discrepancy  in 
saying  of  a  man,  though  in  the  enjoyment  of  pleasure, 
(and  of  how  many  may  we  say  it,)  that  he  is  not  happy, 
so  there  is  none  in  saying  of  him,  though  in  pain,  that  he 
is  not  miserable,  or  even  that  he  is  happy.  In  speaking 
of  one  who  died  recently,  a  man  of  some  distinction,  the 
writer  says,  that  "  though  the  sufferings  of  his  body  were 
so  intense,  yet  his  happiness  during  some  of  his  last  hours 
seemed  indescribable.  He  could  speak  but  a  few  words 
at  a  time,  but  was  able  to  say,  I  have  peace,  I  am  happy." 
Such  language  is  by  no  means  uncommon ;  we  all  under- 
stand it,  and  it  will  be  perceived  that  it  involves  precisely 
the  distinction  for  which  we  contend,  and  without  which 
it  would  be  unintelligible. 

We  remark  again,  that  happiness  cannot  consist  in  that 
which,  being  taken  away,  happiness  still  remains.  We 
have  then  only  to  see  how  far  we  may  go  in  taking  away, 
not  only  Paley's  constituents  of  happiness,  but  several 
others  that  might  be  mentioned,  without  destroying  the 
thing  itself  It  will  be  found  in  this  process,  that  we 
shall  be  obliged  to  stop  precisely  where  the  distinction 
just  made  would  require  it.  Take  the  instance  of  the 
sick  man  just  mentioned.  He  was  happy,  but  his  happi- 
ness did  not  consist  in  pleasure  of  any  kind — he  was  in 


es 

pain ;  nor  in  the  active  pursuit  of  any  thing,  not  even  of 
heaven — tlie  pursuit,  the  journey,  the  activity,  the  effort 
were  over;  nor  in  the  social  affections — they  had  done  their 
office,  he  had  done  with  them  ;  but  it  did  consist  in  the 
calm  beholding  of  the  prospect  before  him,  in  the  intense 
action  of  his  moral  and  rational  nature  on  the  eternal  and 
satisfying  objects  on  which  his  affections  were  fixed. 
The  bodily  sufferings  of  Dr.  Paysoh  in  his  long  and  final 
illness  were  intense,  without  affecting  in  the  least  the 
clearness  and  vigor  of  his  mind.'  It  was  therefore  no  de- 
lusion, when  he  declared  that  he  was  then  happier  than 
at  any  previous  period  of  his  life.  Here  then  we  have 
an  instance  in  which,  with  the  exclusion  of  every  thing 
else,  in  spite  of  pain,  from  the  mere  possession  and  ac- 
tivity of  mind,  happiness  shone  out,  not  only  with  un- 
shorn beams,  but  with  an  augmented  and  purer  light. 
But  if  we  suppose  the  reason  and  moral  powers  destroyed, 
the  eclipse  is  total,  the  idea  of  happiness  is  impossible. 
We  must  therefore  conclude  that  a  man  on  a  sick  and 
dying  bed  cannot  be  happy,  or  we  must  exclude  from  the 
essential  idea  of  happiness  every  thing  that  cannot  be 
found  there.  But  this  distinction  is  not  exemplified  in 
sickness  and  death  alone,  it  runs  through  the  whole  of 
life.  It  is  only  in  this,  that  we  can  find  the  secret  of  his 
happiness  who  suffers  in  any  manner  for  the  sake  (5f  prin- 
ciple— who  is,  it  may  be,  imprisoned,  or  goes  as  a  martyr 
to  the  stake  ;  it  is  in  this  alone  that  we  can  find  the  phi- 
losophy of  self-sacrifice,  and  the  solution  of  the  fact  that 
the  road  of  self-denial  is  so  often  the  road  to  happiness. 

But  the  different  sources  of  pleasure  and  happiness  are 
further  indicated  by  some  important  differences  between 
the  things  themselves.  The  first  that  we  shall  notice  has 
been  already  alluded  to,  and  it  is,  that  that  law  of  habit 
by  which  impressions  become  feebler  as  they  are  longer 
continued,  applies  only  to  pleasure.  ''It  is,"  says  Paley, 
"  a  law  of  the  machine  for  which  we  know  no  remedy, 


64 

that  the  organs  by  which  we  receive  pleasure  are  blunted 
and  benumbed  by  being  frequently  exercised  in  the  same 
way.  There  is  hardly  any  one  who  has  not  found  the 
difference  between  a  gratification  when  new,  and  when 
familiar  ;  or  miy  pleasure  which  does  not  become  indiffer- 
ent as  it  grows  habitual."  Paley  has  here  stated  an  im- 
portant fact ;  but  if  there  be  nothing  but  pleasure,  how 
wretched  must  be  the  condition  of  human  life,  which 
supplies  no  fountain  to  drink  at,  which  will  not  soon  be 
exhausted.  To  be  well  aware  of  this  fact,  however,  is 
of  the  highest  moment  to  those  who  are  just  setting  out 
in  life.  With  unworn  susceptibilities,  and  'a  stranger  to 
satiety,  youth  is  strongly  tempted  to  the  pursuit  of  pleas- 
ure. Having  entered  upon  it,  it  gradually  compensates 
for  diminished  susceptibility  by  increase  of  stimulus,  till 
premature  decay  is  induced.  By  such  a  course,  sooner  or 
later,  life  must  be  drained  to  the  dregs,  and  in  its  progress 
and  consummation  it  is-  that  we  hear  splenetic  remarks 
about  the  world,  and  complaints  against  Providence,  from 
men  who  have  attempted  to  make  of  life  what  it  was 
never  intended  to  be.  ''  To  make  pleasure  and  mirth  and 
jollity  our  business,"  says  Butler,  ''and  be  constantly 
hurrying  about  after  some  gay  amusement,  some  new 
gratification  of  sense  or  appetite,  to  those  who  will  con- 
sider fhe  nature  of  man  and  our  condition  in  this  world, 
will  appear  the  most  romantic  scheme  of  life  that  ever 
entered  into  thought."  The  fact  above  mentioned  is  the 
basis  of  those  common  figures  which  represent  us  as 
grasping  at  the  rose  but  finding  the  thorn  ;  or  which  pic- 
ture the  path  of  pleasure  as  at  first  alluring  and  strown 
with  flowers,  but  after  a  time  becoming  sterile  and  dreary, 
and  terminating  at  length  in  an  obscure  and  frightful 
wilderness.  The  morning  of  life  is  the  high  noon  of 
pleasure,  and  well  is  it,  if,  as  that  fickle  orb  declines,  as 
decline  it  must,  there  shall  arise  a  steadier  and  purer  light 
to  cheer,  in  life's  later  years,  those  eyes  which  must  other- 


65 

wise  "  turn  and  turn  and  find  no  ray."  And  such  a  light 
may  arise  ;  for  active  habits  of  virtue,  which  are  to  happi- 
ness what  the  substance  is  to  its  siiadoWj  are  as  much 
strengthened  by  repetition  as  the  effect  of  passive  impres- 
sions is  diminished.  This  is  the  law  of  our  frame,  and  a 
most  beneficent  one  it  is.  Were  it  otherwise,  virtue,  as 
it  becomes  more  habitual  and  perfect,  would  be  less 
happy — were  it  otherwise,  the  whole  framework  of  man's 
nature  would  have  to  be  new  modelled  to  prevent  the 
high  and  pure  joys  of  heaven  from  degenerating  into 
mere  insipidity.  As  it  is,  there  is  an  analogy  between  our 
moral,  our  intellectual,  and  our  physical  frame.  In  all 
three,  activity  is  both  the  sign  and  the  source  of  strength, 
and  moral  strength  is  just  so  much  perfection  and  so  much 
happiness.  In  this  important  respect  then,  pleasure  and 
happiness  are  entirely  contrasted.  The  one  is  like  a 
vessel  full  and  sparkling  at  first,  but  gradually  wasting 
away  and  becoming  vapid;  the  other,  like  a  fountain 
whose  waters  well  up  the  more  freely  the  more  they 
overflow. 

So  far  as  man  is  concerned,  there  seems  also  to  be  a 
difference  in  the  rank  which  pleasure  and  happiness 
respectively  hold  in  the  arrangements  of  nature.  Pleasure 
is  seldom,  perhaps  never,  like  happiness,  made  an  ultimate 
end  by  her,  but  only  an  expedient  by  which  to  bring 
about  her  ends.  It  seems  to  be  the  inducement  which 
she  holds  out  to  her  creatures,  to  lead  them  to  acts  which 
are  to  have  remote  consequences  of  which  the  creatures 
themselves  are  often  ignorant.  Thus,  the  pleasure  of 
eating  is  not  the  end  proposed  by  nature  ui  mducing  us  to 
eat ;  it  is  simply  the  leading-string,  an  agreeable  one  to  be 
sure,  by  which  she  brings  us  to  do  that  which  is  neces- 
sary for  the  strengthenhig  of  our  bodies.  It  is,  therefore, 
in  perfect  accordance  with  her  design,  that  while  the  de- 
sire of  that  which  is  still  future  is  strong,  the  remem- 
brance of  that  which  is  past  should  be  indistinct  and  little 
9 


66 

worth.  The  pleasure  has  done  its  office.  Hence  the 
very  different  feelings  with  which  we  reflect  upon  differ- 
ent enjoyments.  Happiness,  on  reflection,  may  not  only 
become  a  source  of  satisfaction,  but  ^an  object  of  moral 
approbation,  and  thus  multiply  and  extend  itself  indefi- 
nitely ;  pleasure  never  can.  It  is,  indeed,  said  by  Paley 
in  his  Natural  Theology,  that  "  the  Deity  has  superadded 
pleasure  to  animal  sensations  beyond  what  was  necessary 
for  any  other  purpose;"  but  the  senses  are  the  inlets  of 
information,  which  is  a  necessary  condition  of  happiness, 
and  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  under  any  other  arrange- 
ment, we  should  ever  have  voluntarily  exercised  them  so 
far  as  to  attain  the  knowledge  without  which  we  could 
not  be  happy. 

We  shall  mention  but  one  difference  more,  and  that  is 
the  permanence  of  happiness  when  compared  with  pleas- 
ure. This  arises  from  the  permanence  of  the  objects  and 
relations  from  which  it  is  derived.  As  every  thing  with- 
out is  variable,  this  can  be  found  only  in  permanent  being 
and  its  essential  manifestations,  voluntary,  rational,  and, 
to  borrow  a  term  from  Mackintosh,  which  is  very  much 
needed,  emotive  or  pathematic.  The  difference  in  ques- 
tion may  perhaps  be  best  illustrated  by  a  reference  to 
ideas  and  relations,  which  are  the  necessary  product  of 
the  rational  powers,  and  the  basis  of  emotion.  These  are 
of  two  kinds.  There  are  first,  mathematical  ideas  and 
relations  which  the  mind  conceives  of  as  necessary  and 
unchangeable.  The  ideal  existence  of  certain  curves  and 
angles  would  remain,  if  matter  were  annihilated,  for  they 
arc  independent  of  all  matter  and  of  all  will,  remaining 
under  all  circumstances  immutably  the  same.  Between 
these  abstract  conceptions  and  the  actual  constitution  and 
laws  of  matter,  there  is  a  remarkable  harmony  which 
must  have  struck  every  thinking  mind.  How  came  this 
to  be  ?  How  happens  it  that  the  facts  of  optics,  or  as- 
tronomy, for  instance,   can  be   demonstrated   from   their 


67 

conformity  to  these  conceptions  ?  for  it  is  only  by  the 
harmony  of  the  two,  that  mathematics  can  be  the  instru- 
ment of  investigation  in  physics.  The  sokition  would 
seem  to  be,  that  these  abstractions  were  the  exemplar  in 
the  divine  mind  to  which  the  constitution  and  movements 
of  matter  are  conformed.  The  laws  of  natural  philoso- 
phy and  chemistry  can  most  of  them  be  expressed  by  the 
formulas  of  mathematics.  But  these  are  not  the  only 
permanent  ideas  and  relations,  nor  is  this  the  only  har- 
mony between  things  abstract  and  things  real,  that  is  re- 
vealed to  man.  As,  from  the  suggestions  made  by  the 
imperfect  curves  observed  in  nature,  the  mind  forms  to 
itself  the  idea  of  those  that  are  perfect ;  so  from  the 
glimpses  of  beauty  and  excellence  discerned  in  actual 
being,  it  forms,  by  its  own  proper  force,  the  idea  of  a 
beauty  and  an  excellence  that  are  perfect ;  from  the  idea 
of  time  it  passes  at  once  to  eternity — from  that  of  space 
to  infinity — from  its  own  acts  it  gains  the  ideas  of  power 
and  of  liberty,  and  it  rises  to  the  conception  of  a  principle 
of  unity  in  all  things.  Involved  in  these  ideas,  and 
equally  necessary,  are  those  others  which  depend  on  re- 
lations, such  as  order,  fitness,  harmony  and  proportion. 
The  ideal  beauty  and  excellence  which  the  mind  can  thus 
form  to  itself,  it  is  capable  of  making  an  object  of  desire, 
and  of  attaining.  This  it  is  which  renders  man  capable 
of  self-improvement,  ''which  is  possible  to  any  being 
only  by  a  reflective  observation  of  his  own  acts,  and  then 
by  a  comparison  of  them  with  an  .deal  excellence  which 
he  is  capable  of  conceiving,  and  to  which  he  is  sensible 
he  may  conform."  This  idea  of  excellence  is  as  com- 
plete and  independent  as  any  mathematical  abstraction. 
It  is  conceived  of  as  the  law  of  man's  being,  as  much  as 
the  ellipse  is  as  the  curve  of  the  earth's  revolution,  and 
the  mind  bears  the  same  relation  to  it,  that  the  earth 
would  to  the  ellipse  were  it  an  intelligent  being  capable 
of  conforming  itself  to  that  curve  by  volition.     Between 


68 

nature  and  the  abstractions  of  mathematics  there  is  a  har- 
mony preserved  by  forces  impressed  from  without;  be- 
tween the  pure  ideas  of  excellence  and  beauty,  and  man, 
there  is  a  harmony  which  is  to  he  preserved  by  the  con- 
scious and  voluntary  exertion  of  a  force  originating  from 
within.  The  earth  has  no  conception  of  that  ideal  ellipse 
in  which  it  is  to  move,  nor  any  agency  in  conforming  to 
it ;  man  has  a  conception  of  the  course  of  excellence  he 
is  to  pursue  and  is  voluntary  in  pursuing  it.  It  would 
seem,  therefore,  that  what  nature  is  to  the  abstractions  of 
mathematics,  man  is  to  the  abstract  conceptions  of  moral 
beauty  and  excellence.  The  mathematician  is  assured 
that  he  can  return  to  the  contemplation  of  his  verities 
whenever  he  pleases,  and  that  nothing  but  the  destruction 
of  his  own  powers  can  destroy  his  relation  to  them  as 
objects  of  contemplation  and  sources  of  enjoyment. 
This  is  what  we  mean  by  a  permanent  source  of  happiness. 
But  the  great  ideas  above  mentioned  are  equally  inde- 
pendent, and  far  more  intimate  to  the  mind  of  man,  being 
wroua:ht  into  it  as  the  name  of  Phidias  was  into  the 
statue,  so  that  in  order  to  blot  them  out,  the  mind  must 
be  destroyed.  It  will  be  observed,  too,  that  these  ideas 
and  relations  are  not  viewed  by  man  with  the  mere  intel- 
lectual satisfaction  with  which  he  contemplates  those  of 
mathematics ;  they  create  an  enthusiasm,  a  vivid  sense  of 
delight  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  it  is  in  viewing  them 
that  the  mind  seems  to  respire  as  in  its  native  element. 
"  There  are,"  says  Butler,  ''  certain  ideas  which  we  ex- 
press by  the  words,  order,  harmony,  proportion,  beauty, 
the  furthest  removed  from  any  thing  sensual.  Now,  what 
is  there  in  those  intellectual  images,  forms,  or  ideas,  which 
begets  that  approbation,  love,  delight,  and  even  rapture, 
which  is  seen  in  some  persons'  faces  upon  having  those 
objects  present  to  their  minds?"  It  is  the  distinction  of 
man,  that  he  is  capable  of  forming  these  great  ideas  and 
of  putting   lihnself  and  his  acts  in  harmony  with  them. 


69 

Nor  is  this  removing  happiness  into  a  region  remote  from 
human  life,  since  there  is  no  vokuitary  act  to  which  this 
excellence  and  conformity  may  not  belong.  There  may 
be,  as  Coleridge  says,  "  a  contraction  of  universal  truths 
into  particular  duties,  as  the  image  of  the  sun  may  be  de- 
fined in  a  dew-drop ;  and  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  these 
truths  can  attain  life  and  reality."  What  are  all  the  forms 
of  beauty,  but  reflections  of  one  central  idea  ?  And  what 
are  the  graceful  and  heroic  acts  of  duty  which  ennoble 
life,  but  varied  expressions  of  the  one  idea  of  duty  ? 

What  is  said  above  is  true  while  we  remain  in  the  re- 
gion of  abstraction  ;  but  when  w^e  consider  these  ideas  as 
being  what  they  really  are,  as  bearing  the  same  relation  to 
mind,  as  its  primary  qualities  do  to  matter,  as  constituents 
of  it,  or  rather  forms  of  its  manifestation,  and  as  existing 
perfectly  in  God,  to  whom  by  communion  in  them  we  are 
related,  then  it  is  that  we  pass  from  philosophy  to  religion, 
from  the  region  of  abstraction  to  that  of  reality,  to  that 
of  the  aflfections,  of  obedience  and  love ;  to  a  pure  and 
permanent  happiness.  It  is  at  this  point  that  duty  and 
happiness,  liberty  and  necessity,  coalesce — the  highest 
duty  with  the  most  perfect  happiness ;  the  most  perfect 
liberty  in  pursuing  our  duty  with  the  most  binding  ne- 
cessity, and  the  only  necessity  known  in  morals,  that  by 
which  we  are  obliged  to  conform  to  the  laws  of  our 
moral  being.  There  was  a  period  in  the  history  of  man 
in  which  this  conformity  existed,  and  then  he  was  happy; 
and  it  is  only  by  a  return  of  this  conformity  that  happi- 
ness can  return.  How  entirely  all  this  is  contrasted  with 
pleasure  as  defined  above,  shifting,  transitory  and  uncer- 
tain as  it  is,  we  need  not  say. 

What  we  say  then,  is,  that  there  is  a  real  difference  in 
kind  between  the  enjoyments  of  man,  based  on  the  dis- 
tinction between  powers  and  susceptibilities ;  that  in  the 
one  kind  he  is  active,  for  in  reference  to  powers  there  is 
no  passivity,  and  can  be  none  ;   and  in  the  other  passive  ; 


70 

that  the  one  produces  satiety,  and  is  subject  to  that  law 
of  habits  by  which  it  constantly  diminishes,  while  the 
other  produces  no  satiety,  and  by  the  opposite  law  may 
constantly  increase ;  that  the  one  is  made  an  ultimate  end 
by  nature,  and  is  connected  with  moral  approbation,  the 
other  is  not ;  that  the  one  depends  upon  objects  and  rela- 
tions that  are  permanent,  the  other  does  not.  It  is  not 
pretended,  that  in  a  being  like  man,  it  is  always  easy  to 
mark  the  precise  limit  between  the  two,  more  than  it  is 
in  other  cases  in  which  there  is  an  imperceptible  blending 
of  two  things,  as  of  light  and  darkness,  which  are  yet 
entirely  distinct.  It  is  only  the  broad  facts  for  which  we 
contend,  and  these  seem  to  us  to  be  of  great  practical 
moment. 

Do  we  then,  in  making  this  distinction,  suppose  that 
pleasure  is  not  a  good  ?  Far  from  it.  We  suppose  pleas- 
ure and  happiness  to  be,  not  indeed  equal  elements,  but 
equally  elements  of  human  well-being.  We  simply  say 
that  pleasure  is  a  very  inferior  element  of  human  good, 
which  must  be  subordinated  and  give  way  whenever  it 
would  conflict  with  happiness ;  that  if  we  neglect  it  en- 
tirely in  our  calculations,  it  will  come  unbidden  ;  but  that 
if,  as  men  too  generally  do,  we  make  it  our  end,  we  shall 
certainly  be  disappointed.  Were  we  to  form  an  idea  of 
the  perfect  well-being  of  man,  in  whom  the  animal  and 
spiritual  nature  are  united,  it  would  result  from  a  condition 
in  which  the  susceptibilities  should  meet  only  with  ob- 
jects that  would  give  them  pleasure,  and  in  which  the 
powers,  intellectual  and  moral,  should  find  their  appro- 
priate objects,  and  act  in  perfect  conformity  with  their 
laws — in  which  there  should  be  a  union  in  the  highest 
compatible  degree,  of  pleasure  and  happiness. 

These  remarks  are  perhaps  sufficiently  extended,  but 
we  cannot  close  without  a  brief  inquiry  respecting  the 
conditions  on  which  this  complex  good  may  be  attained. 


71 

It  has  already  been  said  that  the  only  condition  on 
which  enjoyment  of  any  kind  can  be  conceived  of,  is  the 
action  of  some  power  upon  its  appropriate  object,  or  of 
some  susceptibility  from  its  adapted  stimulus.  There  can 
be  no  enjoyment  that  is  not  perceived,  nor  any  perception 
without  activity,  which  is,  therefore,  involved  in  the  very 
idea  of  enjoyment.  There  is,  we  know,  a  notion  of  en- 
joyment as  resulting  from  quiescence  ;  from  repose  ;  this, 
however,  is  not  from  an  absolute,  but  from  a  relative  in- 
activity. Absolute  inactivity  is  death.  There  is,  in  many 
people,  an  inertness  and  sluggishness,  which  they  seem 
to  enjoy ;  their  minds,  like  the  kaleidoscope,  present  at 
every  turn,  the  forms  which  chance  may  happen  to  turn 
up ;  and  there  is  in  their  happiness,  if  such  it  may  be 
called,  as  little  intelligence  and  dignity  as  can  belong  to 
beings  constituted  as  they  are.  Their  bark,  intrusted  to 
themselves,  is  afloat  upon  the  waters ;  but,  heedless  of  the 
stranded  vessels  and  bleaching  bones  of  those  who  have 
preceded,  they  suffer  it  to  drift  on  as  it  lists,  when  they 
ought  to  watch  the  compass  and  ply  the  oar.  In  this 
dreamy  listlessness,  there  is  something  which  acts  on 
many  minds  like  infatuation,  and  it  is  the  "enchanted 
ground"  on  which  they  fall  asleep  in  their  pilgrimage 
through  this  world.  But  the  proper  enjoyment  of  man 
is  essentially  intelligent  and  active,  and  we  cannot  too 
well  remember  that  the  great  condition  of  all  strong  and 
well-defined  enjoyment,  is  vigorous  and  intelligent  ac- 
tivitij.  There  is,  indeed,  a  legitimate  enjoyment  in  re- 
pose after  activity,  but  it  is  one  accorded  to  the  weakness 
of  our  nature.     A  perfect  being  needs  no  repose. 

But  as  all  activity  is  not  productive  of  enjoyment,  the 
practical  inquiry  is,  how  it  should  be  directed.  This 
leads  us  to  a  consideration  of  the  harmony  there  is  be- 
tween man  and  the  universe,  or  at  least,  that  part  of  it  in 
relation  to  which  he  is  called  to  act.  It  is  in  this  har- 
mony that  we  shall  find  the  principle,  the  measure,  and 


72 

the  end  of  the  laws  of  nature  as  acting  upon  man. 
Whether  man  shall  conform  to  these  laws,  is  at  his  own 
option ;  but  it  is  not  at  his  option  whether  he  shall  be  un- 
der them  ;  he  is  so  from  the  very  constitution  of  things. 
The  liberty  of  nature,  like  that  of  our  country,  is  the 
liberty  of  order  and  of  law ;  and  no  more  in  one  than  in 
the  other,  can  any  wrong-headed  person  do  what  he 
pleases  without  punishment. 

Of  these  laws,  there  are  three  kinds  with  which  man  is 
chiefly  concerned,  viz:  physical  laws,  organic  laws,  and 
the  moral  law.  To  the  first  of  these  he  is  related  as 
corporeal,  as  mere  matter ;  to  the  second,  as  a  living,  or- 
ganized frame  ;  and  to  the  third,  as  a  rational  and  account- 
able being. 

In  our  remarks  upon  these  laws,  and  the  relation  of  man 
to  them,  especially  the  first  tAVo,  we  shall  avail  ourselves 
of  the  views  of  Dr.  Combe,  the  phrenologist,  in  his  work 
''On  the  Constitution  of  Man."  Between  these  views 
and  phrenology,  there  is  no  necessary  connection,  more 
than  there  is  between  chemistry  and  alchemy ;  but  the 
phrenologists,  though  they  seem  to  have  been  suggested 
by  Butler,  were  the  first  fully  to  expand  and  insist  upon 
them.  Had  those  writers  confined  themselves  to  them, 
or  at  least  given  them  separately,  these  views  would 
doubtless  have  been  more  widely  extended,  and  less  fre- 
quently doled  out  surreptitiously  by  anonymous  writers. 
They  respect  what  are  termed  the  natural  laws,  and  of 
their  soundness  we  have  no  doubt. 

"  In  attending  to  the  natural  laws,"  says  Dr.  Combe, 
''several  important  principles  strike  us  very  early,  viz. 
1.  Their  independence  of  each  other ;  2.  Obedience  to 
each  of  them  is  attended  with  its  own  reward,  and  diso- 
bedience with  its  own  punishment ;  3.  They  are  uni- 
versal, unbending,  and  invariable  in  their  operations; 
4.   They  are  in  harmony  with  the  constitution  of  man." 

The  following  passage  will  be  sufllcient  to  illustrate  the 


73 

independence,  distinct  rewards,  and  unbending  operation 
of  these  laws.  '■'■  A  ship  floats,  because  a  part  of  it,  benig 
immersed,  displaces  a  weight  of  water  equal  to  its  whole 
weight,  leaving  the  remaining  part  above  the  fluid.  A 
ship  therefore  will  float  on  the  surface  of  the  water  as 
long  as  these  physical  conditions  are  observed,  though  the 
men  in  it  shall  infringe  other  natural  laws  ;  as,  for  exam- 
ple, although  they  should  rob,  murder,  blaspheme,  and 
commit  every  species  of  debauchery ;  and  it  will  sink 
whenever  the  physical  conditions  are  subverted,  however 
strictly  the  crew  and  other  passengers  may  obey  the  other 
laws  here  adverted  to.  In  like  manner,  a  man  who  swal- 
lows poison  which  destroys  the  stomach  and  intestines, 
will  die,  just  because  an  organic  law  has  been  infringed, 
and  because  it  is  independent  of  others,  although  he 
should  have  taken  the  drug  by  mistake,  or  been  the  most 
pious  and  charitable  individual  on  earth.  Or,  thirdly,  a 
man  may  cheat,  lie,  steal,  tyrannize,  and  in  short,  break  a 
great  variety  of  the  moral  laws,  and  nevertheless  be  fat 
and  rubicund,  if  he  sedulously  observe  the  organic  laws 
of  temperance  and  exercise,  which  determine  the  condi- 
tion of  the  body  ;  while  on  the  other  hand,  an  individual 
who  neglects  these,  may  pine  in  disease,  and  be  racked 
by  torturing  pains,  although,  at  the  very  moment,  he  may 
be  devoting  his  mind  to  the  highest  duties  of  humanity." 

The  harmony  of  these  laws  with  the  constitution  of 
man  may  be  illustrated  by  a  reference  to  that  of  gravita- 
tion. '^  To  place  man  in  harmony  with  this,  the  Creator 
has  bestowed  on  him  bones,  muscles,  and  nerves,  con- 
structed on  the  most  perfect  principles  of  mechanism, 
which  enable  him  to  preserve  his  equilibrium,  and  to 
adapt  his  movements  to  its  influence  ;  and  also  intellectual 
faculties  calculated  to  perceive  the  existence  of  the  law, 
its  modes  of  operation,  the  relation  between  it  and  him- 
self, the  beneficial  consequences  of  observing  this  relation, 
and  the  painful  consequences  of  infringing  it.  When  a 
10 


74 

person  falls  from  a  house  and  is  maimed  or  killed  ;  when 
a  ship  springs  a  leak  and  sinks  ;  or  when  a  reservoir  pond 
breaks  down  its  banks  and  ravages  a  valley,  we  onght  to 
trace  the  evil  back  to  its  cause,  which  will  uniformly  re- 
solve itself  into  the  infringement  of  a  natural  law,  and 
then  endeavor  to  discover  whether  this  could  or  could  not 
have  been  prevented,  by  a  due  exercise  of  the  physical 
and  mental  powers  bestowed  on  man.  By  pursuing  this 
course,  we  shall  arrive  at  sound  conclusions  concerning 
the  adaptation  of  the  human  mind  and  body  to  the  phys- 
ical laws  of  the  universe.  The  more  minutely  any  one 
inquires,  the  more  firm  will  be  his  conviction,  that  in 
these  relations  admirable  provision  is  made  by  the  Creator 
for  human  happiness,  and  that  the  evils  which  arise  from 
the  neglect  of  them,  are  attributable,  to  a  great  extent,  to 
man's  not  applying  his  powers  to  the  promotion  of  his 
own  enjoyment." 

The  law  of  gravitation  applies  to  man  as  a  physical 
being;  but  he  is  also  an  organized  being.  The  primary 
requisite  to  his  well-being  as  such,  is,  that  his  constitution 
should  be  originally  sound  and  complete  in  all  its  parts. 
With  this  condition,  '^  the  first  organic  law  is,  that  the 
organized  being,  the  moment  it  is  ushered  into  life,  and 
so  long  as  it  continues  to  live,  must  be  supplied  with  food, 
light,  air,  and  other  physical  aliment  necessary  for  its  sup- 
port, in  due  quantity,  and  of  the  kind  best  suited  to  its 
particular  constitution.  Obedience  to  this  law  is  rewarded 
with  a  vigorous  and  healthy  development  of  its  powers, 
and,  in  animals,  with  a  pleasing  consciousness  of  existence, 
and  aptitude  for  the  performance  of  the  natural  functions  ; 
disobedience  to  it  is  punished  with  feebleness,  stinted 
growth,  general  imperfection,  and  death.  A  second  or- 
ganic law,  applicable  to  man,  is,  that  he  shall  duly  exer- 
cise his  organs,  this  condition  being  an  indispensable  re- 
'  quisite  to  health.  The  reward  of  obedience  to  this  law, 
is  enjoyment  in  the  very  act  of  exercising  the  functions, 


75 

pleasing  consciousness  of  existence^  and  the  acquisition  of 
numberless  gratifications,  of  which  labor,  or  the  exercise 
of  our  powers,  is  the  procuring  means :  the  penalty  of 
neglecting  this  law,  is  debility,  bodily  and  mental,  lassi- 
tude, imperfect  digestion,  disturbed  sleep,  bad  health,  and 
if  carried  to  a  certain  extent,  death.  The  penalty  for 
over-exerting  the  system,  is  exhaustion,  mental  incapacity, 
the  desire  of  strong  artificial  stimulants,  general  insensi- 
bility, and  grossness  of  feeling  and  perception,  with  dis- 
ease and  shortened  life.  Society  has  not  recognized  this 
law,  and  in  consequence,  the  higher  orders  despise  labor, 
and  suffer  the  first  penalty  ;  while  the  lower  orders  are 
oppressed  with  toil,  and  undergo  the  second.  The  penal- 
ties serve  to  provide  motives  for  obedience  to  the  law,  and 
whenever  it  is  recognized,  and  the  consequences  discovered 
to  be  inevitable,  men  will  no  longer  shun  labor  as  painful 
and  ignominious,  but  resort  to  it  as  a  source  of  pleasure, 
as  well  as  to  avoid  the  pains  inflicted  on  those  who 
neglect  it." 

To  these  laws  as  bearing  on  man,  we  attach  great 
importance.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  because  we  place 
happiness  wiiere  we  do,  that  we  wish  to  disregard  or  to 
underrate  the  body  and  its  faculties.  So  far  are  we  from 
this,  that  we  are  satisfied  it  is  not  enough  attended  to  ;  that 
men  do  not  consider  themselves  under  the  laws  of  God  in 
regard  to  its  management ;  and  that  it  is  impossible  for  the 
reason  and  moral  powers  to  have  their  proper  action,  when 
any  of  the  laws  relating  to  it  are  habitually  disobeyed. 
Take  the  instance  of  intemperance,  in  which  men  bring 
upon  themselves  destruction,  by  the  violation  of  an  or- 
ganic law,  and  see  how  soon,  when  this  is  abandoned,  a 
moral  reformation  often  follows.  A  few  years  since  many 
good  men,  in  their  ignorance,  drank  ardent  spirits,  which 
are  not  adapted  to  the  organization  of  man ;  and  now 
that  they  have  abandoned  it,  they  can  feel  that  they  have- 
risen  in  their  intellectual  and  moral  strength.     But  this  is 


76 

not  the  only  habit  that  may  sit,  hke  an  incubus,  upon  a 
man.  The  time  will  come,  when  men  will  look  back 
upon  habits  of  indolence,  and  intemperance  in  eating,  with 
the  same  kind,  if  not  with  the  same  degree  of  feeling,  as 
now  upon  intemperance  in  ardent  spirits.  Men  need  en- 
lightening on  this  subject,  and  we  should  not  think  it 
below  the  dignity  of  the  pulpit  to  enforce  the  observance 
of  these  laws  of  God  also,  not  simply  on  their  own  ac- 
count, but  from  their  connection  with  the  moral  law. 
For  the  same  reason  that  preaching  can  have  no  effect 
upon  a  drunkard,  it  will  have  less  than  it  would  otherwise 
upon  him  who  violates  any  other  organic  law,  and  thus 
dwarfs  his  energies  as  a  man. 

The  more  the  physical  and  organic  laws  are  scrutinized, 
the  more  they  will  be  found  for  the  benefit  of  man,  when 
their  requisitions  are  complied  with.  And  as  man  has 
faculties  by  which  he  can  discover  and  obey  them,  the 
evils  which  take  place  under  them,  evils  which  comprise 
a  vast  deal  of  the  sutfering  in  this  world,  are  to  be  im- 
puted to  his  own  fault,  to  his  ignorance  and  folly,  and  not 
to  an  inscrutable  Providence.  Let  us  reverence  Provi- 
dence, but  let  us  not  charge  it  foolishly.  Most,  if  not  all 
the  diseases  that  are  not  hereditary,  and  these  originally, 
spring  from  vice,  from  some  violation  of  the  physical, 
organic,  or  moral  laws,  in  the  way  of  excess  or  defect. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  but  a  healthy  child  may,  as  men 
have  done,  pass,  in  obedience  to  the  organic  laws,  his 
whole  life  without  pain,  and  die  only  from  natural  decay, 
as  a  clock  stops  when  the  weights  are  down.  Providence 
is  kind  to  man  ;  the  whole  progress  of  science  shows  that 
nature  is  a  friend  to  man  ;  but  then  this  kindness  consists 
in  maintaining  sternly  those  beneficial  laws  by  which 
man  may  regulate  himself,  and  not  in  accommodating 
them  to  his  individual  ignorance  or  caprice.  Suppose,  for 
instance,  a  delicate  young  lady,  after  having  been  in  a 
crowded  assembly,  to  expose  herself  in  a  thin  dress  to 


77 

the  damp  cold  air,  and  the  consequence  to  be  consumption 
and  death.  Both  she  and  her  friends  may  resign  them- 
selves to  the  will  of  Providence  ;  but  Providence  had  no 
more  to  do  with  it,  than  with  an  act  of  suicide.  An 
organic  law  was  violated  in  one  case  as  well  as  in  the 
other,  though  with  less  guilt,  and  the  penalty  was 
paid. 

This  view  of  these  laws,  and  especially  of  their  inde- 
pendence, accounts  for  much  of  the  apparent  confusion 
which  we  observe  in  the  distribution  of  happiness,  and 
shows  that  suffering  generally  falls  where  it  ought.  A 
man  who  does  not  obey  the  organic  laws,  must  and  ought 
to  suffer  the  consequent  evil,  whatever  his  moral  character 
may  be.  Infractions  of  these^  laws  are  commonly  called 
imprudences,  and  not  guilt;  and  we  may  also  see  the 
reason  why  the  former  are  often  punished  apparently  with 
more  severity  than  the  latter.  The  whole  penalty  of  a 
physical  or  organic  law  is  often  exacted  at  once,  the  reck- 
oning of  guilt  is  reserved  till  a  future  day. 

In  reference  to  these  laws,  man  is  strictly  under  proba- 
tion. He  can  obey  or  not,  as  he  pleases  ;  but  then  the 
consequences  are  his  own.  They  all  admit  of  more  or 
less  violation,  not  without  punishment,  but  without  that 
which  is  final ;  but  when  transgressed  to  a  certain  point, 
there  is  no  room  for  repentance,  and  the  system  on  which 
they  bear  is  destroyed  without  remedy.  When  this  point 
is  reached,  nature  knows  no  pity,  and  her  hand  never 
falters.  Severe  in  her  goodness,  she  will  sacrifice  a  whole 
race,  sooner  than  swerve  in  the  least  from  her  laws. 
Facts  like  those,  constantly  written  as  by  an  invisible 
hand,  on  the  scroll  of  nature  and  of  providence,  constitute 
characters,  which  vice,  if  it  were  not  besotted,  would  read 
and  tremble  ;  for  it  cannot  be  supposed,  if  God  is  so  exact 
and  fearful  in  his  reckoning  mider  these  minor  laws,  that 
he  will  stay  his  hand  when  called  upon  to  sustain  the 
more  imposing  and  awful  sanctions  of  the  moral  law. 


78 

We  have  already  referred  to  this  law,  and  it  will  not  be 
necessary  now  to  spend  much  time  upon  it.  It  is  superior 
to  the  others  and  supreme.  Other  laws  act  upon  us  from 
without,  but  this  is  the  internal  law  of  our  being,  the  law 
of  man  as  man.  He  may  infringe  other  laws  as  an  animal, 
and  be  punished  as  an  animal,  but  the  transgression  of 
this  law  is  guilty  it  is  sin,  and,  without  some  remedial 
process,  is  moral  suicide  and  death ;  for  it  is,  if  possible, 
even  more  unbending  than  the  others.  "  Heaven  and 
earth  shall  pass  away,  but  not  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  law 
shall  fail."  It  is  for  man  as  having  transgressed  this  law, 
that  heaven  has  been  moved  ;  it  is  over  him  as  restored  to 
the  acknowledgment  of  its  supremacy,  that  angels  rejoice. 
Its  penalties  and  rewards,  as  bearing  upon  us,  are  imme- 
diate and  ultimate.  The  immediate  penalty  is,  the  loss  of 
a  good  conscience,  the  consciousness  of  not  deserving  the 
esteem  and  affection  of  others,  disorder  of  the  faculties, 
the  tyranny  of  the  passions,  the  pains  of  remorse,  and 
fearful  forebodings  for  the  future  ;  the  immediate  reward 
is,  a  good  conscience,  a  consciousness  of  deserving  the 
esteem  and  affections  of  others,  inward  peace  consisting 
in  the  activity  of  well-balanced  powers,  a  sense  of  present 
security,  and  a  cheerful  assurance  of  good  for  the  future. 
The  remote  penalty,  to  say  nothing  of  positive  infliction, 
consists  in  the  complete  and  final  disorder  and  warfare  of 
the  powers,  in  a  condition  in  which  restoration  shall  be 
hopeless,  thus  constituting  an  undying  death  ;  the  ultimate 
reward,  and  that  to  which  every  good  man  hopes  to  come, 
consists  in  a  restoration  to  perfect  obedience,  in  an  identi- 
fication of  the  principle  of  the  law  with  the  will,  conse- 
quently of  desire  with  volition,  and  in  the  full  and  har- 
monious activity  of  all  the  powers  without  weariness  and 
without  apprehension. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  rewards  and  penalties  of  the 
moral  law,  it  is  not  more  certain  that  the  physical  and 
organic  well-being  of  man  depend   on  his  observance  of 


79 

the  physical  and  organic  laws,  than  it  is  that  his  moral 
well-being  depends  on  his  obedience  to  the  moral  law. 

We  are  now  prepared,  from  the  comparison  which  has 
been  made  between  the  powers  and  susceptibilities  of 
man,  and  from  the  relations  which  he  has  been  shown  to 
sustain  to  the  various  laws  under  which  he  is,  not  to  give 
a  definition  of  human  well-being,  as  distinguished  from 
happiness,  but  to  say  that  it  results,  and  must  result,  from 
the  activity  of  the  powers  and  susceptibilities  of  man,  in 
harmony  with  each  other  and  with  the  laws  of  God. 

We  have  then,  the  three  terms,  pleasure,  happiness,  and 
well-being,  expressive  of  the  good  which  may  belong  to 
man.  From  this  whole  discussion,  it  will  appear  that  the 
Epicurean  solution  of  the  question  respecting  the  sum- 
mum  bonum,  which  made  it  consist  in  pleasure,  involved 
a  partial  truth,  involved  one  of  the  elements  of  that  good  ; 
that  the  solution  of  the  Stoics,  which  made  it  consist  in 
conformity  to  the  moral  law,  without  regard  to  pleasure 
or  pain,  also  involved  a  partial  truth,  involved  another 
element  of  that  good ;  and  that  the  true  solution  lies  in 
the  harmony  of  the  two.  Still  these  two  sects  were  not 
equally  right,  since  the  elements  which  they  severally 
adapted  are  by  no  means  equal.  Virtue  is  not  the  only 
good,  but  it  is  the  supreme  good  of  man,  and  whenever  a 
desire  for  pleasure  would  obstruct  the  fulfilment  of  the 
moral  law,  which  alone  is  virtue  and  happiness,  it  must 
be  repressed.  It  is  very  much  from  the  fact  that  many 
pleasures  are  incompatible  with  virtue,  that  this  world  is 
a  place  of  probation.  On  the  one  hand  pleasure  solicits, 
on  the  other  duty  commands,  and  a  struggle  ensues.  But 
from  the  comparison  made  between  the  powers  of  man 
and  the  laws  under  which  he  acts,  it  is  evident  that  con- 
formity to  the  proper  law  of  his  being,  to  the  moral  law, 
must  be  his  supreme  good  ;  that  with  this  conformity, 
pleasure  may  come  in  as  an  inferior  element  of  well-being, 
but  that  without  it,  happiness  is  impossible. 


Bp 

Thus,  to  those  who  will  consider,  it  is  very  obvious 
what  our  position  is  in  this  world,  what  are  the  destinies 
with  which  we  are  intrusted,  and  how  we  are  intrusted 
with  them.  We  are  a  part,  a  very  small  part  to  be  sure, 
but  still  a  part,  of  that  stupendous  universe  which  has 
emerged  to  our  view  out  of  the  eternity  that  is  past,  and 
is  sweeping  on  with  unexhausted  energies  to  that  which 
is  to  come.  With  the  majestic  and  unswerving  laws  by 
which  the  whole  is  moved,  we  are  in  relation  ;  with  us, 
therefore,  it  rests,  whether  we  shall,  by  opposing  ourselves 
to  their  resistless  course,  be  whelmed  and  swept  to  rum, 
or  whether,  in  the  recognition  of  their  legitimacy  and 
wisdom,  and  in  voluntary  co-operation  with  them,  we 
shall  throw  ourselves  upon  the  tide,  and  be  borne  onward 
and  upward  in  well-being  forever. 


81 


ON    ORIGINALITY. 

Originality  is  so  much  an  object  of  desire,  and  a 
means  of  influence,  that  some  inquiry  respecting  its  na- 
ture may  not  be  uninteresting.  It  may  belong,  either  to 
the  thought  as  expressed  in  conversation  and  in  writing, 
or  to  the  character  as  expressed  by  action  ;  and  in  accord- 
ance with  this  division  of  the  subject  I  propose  to  make 
some  remarks  on  originality  in  composition  and  in  char- 
acter. There  may,  I  know,  be  an  originality  in  mere 
style  ;  but  as  it  is  the  thought  which  is  the  essential  part 
of  a  composition,  I  shall  confine  myself  to  that. 

Tlfat  our  ideas  on  this  subject  may  be  disthict,  it  will 
be  necessary  to  separate  from  the  true  idea  of  originaUty, 
some  things  with  which  we  may  be  liable  to  confound  it. 
Originality  must  be  distinguished  from  independence  of 
thought.  This  has  reference  solely  to  the  aid  which  we 
receive  from  others.  In  some  respects  all  men  are  con- 
stituted alike,  are  subjected  to  common  influences,  and 
come,  without  reference  to  others,  to  the  same  results.  In 
such  cases  there  is  independence,  but  it  would  not  be 
designated  as  originality  of  thought.  Original  thought, 
then,  though  it  must  of  course  be  independent,  must  also 
difl'er  from  the  track  of  thought  into  which  men  ordinarily 
fall. 

But  it  is  not  every  divergency  from  tlie  common  track 
that  can  be  dignified  as  originality  ;  and  hence,  we  must 
also  distinguish  between  that  and  singularity.  This 
11 


82 

arises  from  a  peculiar  structure  or  habit  of  mind,  which 
isolates  the  individual  from  his  race,  instead  of  uniting 
him  to  it,  and  causes  his  processes  of  thought,  to  be 
looked  upon  as  matter  of  surprise  and  amusement,  rather 
than  of  admiration  and  approbation.  Such  a  structure  or 
habit  can  never  be  a  means  of  influence.  Much  more 
must  originality  differ  from  all  absurdity  and  extravagance. 
When  a  thought,  if  indeed  it  deserves  the  name,  involves 
a  contradiction,  we  call  it  absurd  ;  when  it  departs  greatly 
from  nature  and  truth,  we  call  it  extravagant.  An  original 
thought,  then,  must  be  not  only  independent  and  pecul- 
iar, but  it  must  also  be  natural,  else  there  is  no  distinc- 
tion between  originality,  and  extravagance,  or  insanity. 
Whatever  may  be  thought  of  this  definition  of  terms, 
it  is  clear  that  it  is  in  this  sense  alone  that  originality  can 
be  an  element  of  power ^  and  it  is  as  such  only  that  I  wish 
to  consider  it.  As  original  thought  accords  with  the  con- 
stitution of  things  and  the  processes  of  nature,  which  are 
always  simple  and  beautiful,  it  has,  in  general,  another 
attribute,  that  of  simplicity,  and  hence,  though  so  few 
would  have  discovered  them,  yet  when  its  results  are  once 
seen,  they  appear  simple,  and  obvious,  and  beautiful. 
Hence  too  it  is  that  such  thoughts  not  only  furnish  an 
evidence  of  the  progress  of  an  individual  mind,  but  that 
they  apply  themselves  to  the  mass  of  human  intellect,  and 
quicken  it,  and  become  the  means  of  exciting  and  guiding 
others  to  the  attainment  of  intellectual  wealth  and  in- 
tellectual power.  He  who  can  furnish  such  means,  is 
evidently  a  benefactor  of  his  species. 

If,  as  it  is  often  supposed,  such  thoughts  are  inspired 
into  the  mind  by  a  mysterious  power  called  genius,  then 
no  aid  can  be  given  in  their  acquisition  ;  but  if  they  lie 
only  in  certain  regions,  and  are  in  any  measure  subject  to 
the  same  laws  as  other  thoughts,  then  such  aid  may  be 
given.  To  ascertain  how  far  this  is  the  case,  I  shall  in- 
quire whether  man  can  be  original  at  all   in   the  sense  of 


83 

originating  any  thing ;  or,  as  it  has  been  said  that  an 
original  thought  must  also  be  natural,  in  what  sense  a 
thought  that  is  natural  is  also  original. 

In  the  material  world  we  know  that  man  can  originate 
nothing.  He  can  modify,  but  cannot  create ;  and  it  is 
only  by  changing  the  form  and  position  of  materials  sup- 
plied to  his  Iiands,  that  the  world  of  nature  has  been 
transformed  into  the  world  of  industry  and  of  art. 
Equally  obvious  is  it  that  he  does  not  originate  those 
thoughts  and  impressions  which  come  to  him  from 
without,  through  the  medium  of  the  senses.  If  I  think 
of  a  tree,  it  is  a  natural  tjiought,  but  not  original  with  me. 
The  original  conception  of  the  tree  was  with  its  Maker. 
I  found  it  standing  before  me,  and  received  the  impression 
from  it,  which  was  an  embodied  conception  already  exist- 
ing. So  of  all  things  which  can  be  imagined^  that  is,  of 
which  we  can  form  an  image.  It  will  be  found  that  we 
can  form  an  image  of  nothing  which  we  have  not  seen. 
We  may  indeed  imagine  a  winged  horse  :  but  here  is  no 
original  conception  ;  it  is  but  the  joining  together  of  two 
previously  furnished.  We  can  enlarge,  or  diminish,  or 
variously  combine  the  forms  that  lie  in  fantasy,  but  we 
cannot  create  them. 

Of  course,  in  the  imitative  arts,  (in  which  human  genius 
finds  some  of  its  highest  walks,)  the  object  being  to  em- 
body and  reproduce  conceptions  thus  furnished  from 
nature,  there  can  be  no  originality  in  the  sense  now  spoken 
of.  In  painting  and  sculpture,  the  object  is,  either  to  im- 
itate particular  objects  and  scenes  from  nature,  or,  as  in 
works  of  imagination,  to  unite  elements,  which,  though 
they  exist  separately  in  nature,  have  never  been  seen 
combined.  In  making  this  combination,  however,  as  all 
our  associations  and  modes  of  thought  are  formed  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  order  of  nature,  it  is  necessary  to  make 
her  the  model  still,  and  to  represent  every  thing  in  con- 
formity  with  her  mode  of  operation.     ''If,"  says  Horace, 


84 

^'  a  painter  should  unite  to  a  human  head  the  neck  of  a 
horse,  and  should  clothe  the  limbs,  taken  some  from  one 
animal  and  some  from  another,  with  many  colored  feathers, 
and  cause  that  which  above  was  a  beautiful  woman,  to 
terminate  in  the  tail  of  a  fish,  would  you  be  able,  my 
friends,  if  you  should  be  admitted  to  see  it,  to  restrain 
your  laughter  ?  "  The  fundamental  idea  on  which  nature 
proceeds  is  absolutely  perfect,  though  it  seldom  happens 
that  we  see  that  idea  fully  expressed  in  any  individual 
specimen  of  her  works.  It  is  this  idea  that  must  inspire 
and  guide  the  artist,  and  any  intentional  deviation  from  it, 
like  those  just  mentioned,  so  far  from  being  thought 
original,  is  not  to  be  endured.  In  general,  a  painting  is 
said  to  be  original  when  the  artist  conforms  to  nature, 
whether  with  or  without  a  model  immediately  before 
him  ;  and  the  pleasure  derived  from  his  work,  though  in 
part  attributable  to  our  surprise  at  the  disparity  between 
the  materials  used  in  imitating  and  the  object  imitated,  is 
yet  proportioned  to  the  faithfulness  with  which  he  repre- 
sents his  great  archetype. 

This,  as  was  perhaps  to  be  expected,  is  true  in  the  imi- 
tative arts  ;  a  brief  reference  to  different  species  of  com- 
position will  show  whether  it  be  equally  true  when  arbi- 
trary signs  are  used  for  the  expression  of  our  ideas. 

In  mere  narrative,  it  is  obvious  that  there  can  be  no 
ground  for  originality  in  the  sense  of  originating  any 
thing.  All  that  can  be  done  is,  to  ascertain  and  arrange 
facts,  which  may  require  attention,  research,  judgment, 
but  not  originality.  The  remarks,  the  reflections,  the 
theories  of  the  historian,  whether  nature  or  man  be  his 
subject,  are  departures  from  simple  narrative,  and  must  be 
referred  to  another  head. 

To  descriptive  writing  the  epithet  original  may  be 
applied,  but  only  as  it  can  be  applied  to  painting,  to  which, 
indeed,  this  kind  of  writing  bears  a  striking  analogy.  In 
pure  description,  the  purpose  is  to  give  an  exact  impression 


85 

of  the  object  as  it  is,  without  reference  to  any  thing  else. 
Those  who  do  this  may  be  called  the  Dutch  school  in  de- 
scription. Sparing  in  the  use  of  figurative  language,  they 
give  us  plain,  it  may  be  homely  pictures,  but  withal  so 
distinct  and  natural  that  we  seem  to  see  them.  Take  for 
instance  the  following  lines  from  Crabbe,  who  was  a 
master  in  this  way. 

"  Grave  Jonas  Kindred,  Sybil  Kindred's  sire, 
Was  six  feet  high,  and  looked  six  inches  higher  ; 
Erect,  morose,  determined,  solemn,  slow, 
Who  knew  the  man  could  never  cease  to  know ; 
His  faithful  spouse,  when  Jonas  was  not  by, 
Had  a  firm  presence,  and  a  steady  eye  ; 
But  with  her  husband,  dropp'd  her  look  and  tone, 
And  Jonas  ruled,  unquestioned  and  alone." 

In  general,  however,  a  style  is  adopted  which  allows 
the  fancy  more  play.  Life  is  attributed  to  inanimate 
objects,  and  the  principal  figures  are  embellished  and  il- 
lustrated by  others  analogous  to  them.  Thus,  in  Bryant's 
splendid  description  of  our  autumnal  scenery,  he  says, 

"  The  mountains  that  infold 
In  their  wide  sweep  the  colored  landscape  round, 
Seem  groups  of  giant  kings,  in  purple  and  gold, 
That  guard  the  enchanted  ground." 

But  whichever  style  is  adopted,  it  is  obvious  that  he 
only  is  original,  who,  instead  of  talking  by  rote  about 
nightingales  and  purling  streams,  observes  nature  for  him- 
self, and  by  his  choice  selection  of  circumstances,  and  his 
power  of  language,  conveys  his  impressions  vividly  to 
others.  He  who  can  do  this,  need  not  resort  to  foreign 
scenery,  or  to  that  which  is  wild  and  anomalous,  in  which 
nature  herself  is,  as  it  were,  original.  He  can  delight  us 
by  associating  the  harmony  of  numbers  with  those  scenes 
which  are  the  sources  of  our  simplest  and  purest  pleasures. 
Instead  of  the  nightingale,  or  rather  Philomela^  the  gen- 


86 

nine  New  England  poet  *  introduces  into  the  description 
of  a  summer  evening  twilight,  unpoetical  as  is  its  name, 
the  lonely  snipe : 

"  O'er  marshy  fields  high  in  the  dusky  air 
Invisible,  but  with  faint  tremulous  tones 
Hovering  or  playing  o'er  the  listener's  head  :  " 

or  the  whippoorwill,  that 

"  Haply  on  the  step 
Of  unfrequented  door  lighting  unseen, 
Breaks  into  strains  articulate  and  clear. 
The  closing  sometimes  quickened  as  in  sport:  " 

and  who  does  not  feel  the  freshness  and  originality  of 
the  picture  ?  What  has  been  said  of  external  nature,  is 
equally  true  of  descriptions  of  character.  There  is  room 
for  judgment  and  selection  in  the  points  described,  but 
those  points  must  be  given  as  they  are. 

It  is  under  the  heads  of  narrative  and  descriptive  writing, 
that  I  include  all  works  on  physical  science.  This  is 
merely  a  knowledge  of  facts  that  are  permanent  as  the 
arrangements  of  nature.  The  science  of  Astronomy,  for 
instance,  is  a  knowledge  of  certain  facts  which  take  place 
according  to  fixed  laws ;  the  science  of  Anatomy  is  the 
knowledge  of  certain  arrangements  in  the  organization  of 
men  and  animals  to  which  nature  invariably  adheres.  The 
only  difference  then  between  historical  facts  and  those  of 
physical  science  is,  that  the  former  take  place  but  once, 
and  do  not  follow  each  other  by  an  invariable  law,  while 
the  latter  continue  the  same  from  age  to  age.  A  knowl- 
edge of  the  one  makes  the  natural  philosopher  an  unerring 
prophet  of  the  future,  because  the  future  is  but  a  repe- 
tition of  the  past ;  a  knowledge  of  the  other,  because  the 
future  is  developed  from  the  past,  best  enables  the  states- 
man to  discern  those  shadows  which  coming  events  cast 
before,  and  to  know  when,  and  where,  and  how,  to  affect 

*  Wilcox. 


87  , 

by  a  wise  agency  the  destiny  of  nations.  But  in  either 
case,  there  must  be  a  knowledge  of  actual  events  and  re- 
lations, which  he  who  writes  may  indeed  have  ascertained, 
but  did  not  originate. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  discussion,  I  class  under  nar- 
rative and  descriptive  writing,  not  only  Physics,  but  the 
science  that  is  over  against  it.  Metaphysics,  since  this  is  a 
science  of  facts  and  observation  as  much  as  any  other. 
It  is  true,  observation  being  here  more  difficult,  that  the 
pursuit  of  this  science  has  given  rise  to  many  idle  specu- 
lations, that  is,  suppositions  of  facts  and  relations  that  did 
not  exist ;  but  all  these  were  only  so  much  error,  and  not 
originality.  Originality  supposes  power,  but  in  all  these 
cases  in  ivhich  there  is  a  departure  from  truth  and  nature, 
it  is  from  the  want,  and  not  from  the  possession  of  power. 

In  treating  of  whatever  is,  'then,  there  can  be  no  room 
for  originality  in  the  sense  of  originating  any  thing.  In 
this  sense,  the  Creator  is  the  only  original,  and  the  things 
that  a7^e,  stand  forth  as  so  many  symbols  of  his  ideas, 
which  may,  from  them,  be  transferred  into  our  own  minds. 
Thus  it  is  that  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  are,  according 
to  the  beautiful  idea  of  the  ancients,  an  allegorical  repre- 
sentation, under  the  external  form  of  which  are  couched 
ideas  which  the  wise  only  can  read  ;  or  may  we  not  rather 
say  that  they  are  one  great  transparency,  through  which 
the  lines  of  wisdom,  and  the  forms  of  beauty,  and  sub- 
limity, and  love,  not  seen  at  all  or  dimly  seen  by  the  un- 
observant many,  come  out  in  living  light  to  the  eye  that 
dwells  long  upon  them.  In  all  these  cases  the  types  are 
set  in  nature,  and  he  is  the  greatest  orighial  who  can  take 
the  truest  copy. 

We  now  pass  to  fictitious  writing,  in  which  the  charac- 
ters and  events  are  supposed  to  be  entirely  the  product  of 
the  author's  mind,  and  which,  it  may  be  said,  is  the  great 
field  of  originality.  Let  us  take,  for  instance,  the  charac- 
ter of  Hamlet  by  Shakspeare.     If  we  suppose   that  no 


88 

such  character  ever  existed,  then,  it  will  be  said,  it  was 
the  work  of  the  poet's  mind,  and  therefore  original.  The 
inquiry  is,  in  what  sense  this  is  true.  There  are  certain 
original  and  common  qualities  that  belong  to  man  univer- 
sally. In  different  characters  these  are  differently  blend- 
ed, are  differently  modified  by  external  circumstances,  and 
produce,  though  within  certain  limits,  a  wonderful  variety 
of  outward  manifestation.  Any  character  formed  of  these 
materials,  and  confined  within  these  limits,  we  esteem 
natural.  In  forming  his  characters  then  from  these  origi- 
nal materials,  the  poet  or  novelist  may  weave  the  thread 
and  shape  the  pattern  a  little  after  his  own  fancy ;  but  the 
warp  and  the  woof  must  be  furnished  by  nature.  Nor, 
when  he  indulges  fancy,  may  he,  more  than  the  iiistorical 
painter,  do  it  in  departing  from  nature,  but  in  following 
her.  The  great  excellence  of  this  character  by  Shak- 
speare,  is,  that  he  has  blended  no  contradictory  qualities, 
that  he  has  combined  them  after  the  manner  of  nature, 
and  having  formed  his  character,  has  made  him  act  as  na- 
ture would  have  done.  Of  all  fictitious  characters,  it  is 
the  especial  requisite  that  they  should  be  natural ;  and  it 
is  only  because  the  events  and  characters  of  fictitious 
writing  are  not  so  varied  and  natural  as  those  of  real  life, 
that  fiction  is  less  instructive  than  history.  The  immor- 
tality of  Shakspeare's  works  depends  on  the  fact  that  he 
has  transferred  to  his  pages  the  true  features  of  humanity, 
not  as  they  exist  under  a  single  modification  of  society, 
but  as  they  exist  in  nature.  It  is  from  an  observation  of 
what  the  nature  of  man  requires,  that  the  rules,  for  it  has 
its  rules,  of  this  species  of  writing  are  formed.  For  the 
necessity  of  attention  to  these,  I  presume  Bulwer  will  be 
thought  sufficient  authority.  ''It  is,"  says  he,  "to  a 
critical  study  of  the  rules  of  fiction,  that  I  owe  every  suc- 
cess in  literature  that  I  have  obtained,  and  in  the  mere  art 
of  composition  " — I  beg  leave  to  finish  the  sentence,  for 
some  students  seem  to  think  this  also  comes  by  inspira- 


89 

tion — "  in  the  mere  art  of  composition,  if  I  now  have  at- 
tained to  even  too  rapid  a  facility  in  expressing  my 
thoughts,  it  has  been  purchased  by  a  most  laborious  slow- 
ness in  the  first  commencement,  and  resolute  refusal  to 
write  a  second  sentence  until  I  had  expressed  my  mean- 
ing in  the  best  manner  I  could  in  the  first."  In  all  these 
cases  it  is  clear  that  nature  is  the  great  original,  the  great 
model,  the  great  standard  to  which  every  thing  is  to  be 
referred. 

But  one  more  species  of  writing  will  be  noticed,  and 
that  consists  of  observations,  reflections,  and  moral  max* 
ims.  When  Swift  said  he  was  too  proud  to  be  vain,  the 
remark  was  thought  original,  and  yet  it  arose  only  from  a 
nicer  observation  than  is  common  of  the  real  relations  of 
pride  and  vanity*  So,  when  the  proverb  says,  that  ^'  The 
sure  way  of  being  deceived  is  to  think  ourselves  more 
cunning  than  the  rest  of  the  world,"  what  is  it  but  an 
induction  of  a  general  truth  from  an  observation  of  what 
happens  in  a  multitude  of  instances  ?  All  remarks  of  this 
kind  derive  their  originality  from  careful  observation 
alone. 

In  the  important  departments  of  writing,  then,  which 
we  have  now  considered,  we  conclude  that  man  cannot 
be  original  in  the  sense  of  originating  any  thing.  His 
thoughts  do  not  come  at  the  immediate  and  arbitrary  bid- 
ding of  his  will,  but  by  the  intervention  of  a  law  which 
puts  their  sequence  beyond  his  direct  control.  The  char- 
acters are  drawn,  and  he  must  decipher  them  ;  the  rela- 
tions are  established,  and  he  must  observe  them  ;  the  book 
is  written,  and  if  he  would  read  it,  he  must  follow  its 
lines  and  its  order,  or  confusion  and  nonsense  will  be  the 
result.  It  is  only  to  her  diligent  student,  that  nature  lifts 
the  veil  and  discloses  new  traits.  He  only  can  give  us 
impressions  of  beauty  and  sublimity,  who  has  observed 
them  where  they  dwell  in  her  visible  forms ;  he  only  can 
touch  us  with  a  sense  of  what  is  magnanimous  and  tender 
12 


90 

in  character,  who  has  the  sensibiUty  to  feel  and  the  dis- 
crimination to  mark  their  development.  It  is  obvious, 
therefore,  that  tlie  keenest  and  most  comprehensive  ob- 
server of  nature  wiU  be  the  greatest  original ;  and  that 
what  is  called  genius,  is  but  a  quick  observation  of  na- 
ture, and  a  ready  power  of  combining  the  materials  which 
she  has  furnished. 

There  is  indeed  a  sense  in  which  all  thought  is  equally 
mysterious  and  original.  It  is  all  equally  the  product  of 
the  power  of  thought,  upon  which  no  investigation  can 
cast  any  light.  This  is  spontaneous  and  inscrutable  ;  but 
one  thought  does  not,  more  than  another,  arise  sponta- 
neously— its  outward  circles  are  impelled  by  those  within, 
till  we  come  to  its  point  of  departure  in  the  first  myste- 
rious wakings  of  consciousness  in  the  soul.  Original 
thought,  as  much  as  any  other,  is  connected  with  that 
which  preceded  it,  and  is  subject  to  the  laws  of  associa- 
tion. 

Obvious  as  these  remarks  may  appear,  it  is  from  a  want 
of  attention  to  them  that  much  thought  has  been  wasted. 
Instead  of  flowing  on  to  swell  the  mass  of  available 
knowledge,  it  has  been  turned  aside,  and  absorbed  in  the 
regions  of  barren  speculation. 

It  will  not  be  inferred  from  what  has  been  said,  that 
every  man  can  have  the  power  of  original  thought.  That 
is  not  my  opinion.  I  believe  in  constitutional  differences 
of  mind,  as  well  as  of  body.  But  many  who  might  be 
original  thinkers,  fail  of  being  so  from  a  misdirection  of 
their  powers.  It  may  require  more  vigor  than  all  possess  to 
ascend  the  steep  when  the  way  is  known,  for  in  this  path 
no  man  can  be  carried ;  but  the  fleetest  step  will  not  reach 
the  summit  unless  the  right  path  be  pursued. 

But,  it  will  be  asked — for  the  impression  is  very  com- 
mon— if  these  remarks  are  correct,  how  it  happens  that  so 
many  great  discoveries  and  inventions  are  made  by^  acci- 
dent.    To  discuss  this  subject  fully,  it  would  be   neces- 


91 

sary  to  make  a  distinction  between  invention  and  dis- 
covery ;  bnt  the  general  principles  on  which  the  mind  pro- 
ceeds in  both  are  so  nearly  the  same  that  we  need  not  be 
detained  with  it.  I  answer  the  inquiry  generally,  by  de- 
nying the  fact.  If  great  discoveries  are  made  by  accident, 
mankind  are  entirely  at  faidt  in  considering  those  who 
make  them,  great  men.  The  slave  who  finds  the  largest 
diamond  in  the  mhies  of  Brazil,  would:  as  much  be  en- 
titled to  veneration,  as  he  who  makes  a  new  invention,  or 
unfolds  a  general  principle.  Man  is  not  original  in  ob- 
serving what  is,  unless  he  suspected  its  existence.  It  is 
because  Columbus,  if  I  may  so  express  it,  so  far  entered 
into  the  views  of  God  in  the  construction  of  the  earth  as 
to  suspect  the  existence  of  this  continent,  and  set  himself 
at  the  risk  of  his  character  and  fortune  to  seek  for  it,  that 
we  look  upon  him  in  a  light  so  different  from  that  in 
which  we  should  have  viewed  him  had  he  been  driven  in- 
voluntarily upon  these  shores.  The  history  of  these  dis- 
coveries will  show  us,  that  they  are  made  only  on  those 
subjects  in  regard  to  which  the  human  mind  is  so  excited 
as  to  know  what  it  wants,  or  at  least,  as  to  know  that  it 
wants  something,  and  to  question  nature  on  the  general 
subject.  It  requires  some  knowledge  upon  a  subject  to 
be  able  to  put  pertinent  questions  respecting  it ;  and  he 
who  knows  how  to  question  nature  wisely,  is  a  great 
man.  We  may  also  observe  that  these  discoveries,  acci- 
dental as  they  might  appear  at  the  moment,  have  been 
made  by  those  individual  minds  which  have  been  the 
most  highly  excited,  and  have  put  questions  with  the 
greatest  energy  and  perseverance.  It  was  to  the  mind  of 
Galileo,  that  the  swinging  of  a  lamp  in  a  cathedral  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  the  pendulum.  It  was  to  the  mind  of 
Galvani,  long  conversant  with  inquiries  upon  electricity, 
that  the  muscular  contractions  upon  the  leg  of  a  frog  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  galvanism.  It  was  to  the  mind  of 
Harvey,  that  the  valves  in  the  veins  gave  the  hint  of  the 


92 

circulation  of  the  blood.  It  was  to  Newton,  that  the  fall 
of  an  apple  suggested  gravitation  ;  and  to  one  whose  ex- 
perience of  the  uniformity  of  nature  was  less  than  his, 
who  had  not  practically  learned  that  the  prophetic  power 
which  the  suggestions  of  analogy  give  is  based  on  ex- 
perience, the  refraction  of  light  by  the  diamond  had  not 
suggested  its  combustibility.  It  was  to  Davy,  who  knew 
the  laws  of  caloric,  that  the  idea  of  the  safety-lamp  oc- 
curred. It  was  to  Franklin,  that  the  phenomena  of  ter- 
restrial electricity  suggested  the  identity  of  heat  with  the 
lightning  that  plays  in  the  heavens.  If  these  discoveries 
were  accidents,  we  may  say  of  them,  as  the  French  say 
of  certain  hits  in  the  game  of  billiards,  that  they  happen 
only  to  those  who  play  well.  We  may  remark  further, 
that  discoveries  are  seldom  much  in  advance  of  the  age, 
and  that  it  often  happens  that  they  are  made  almost  simul- 
taneously and  independently  in  different  countries. 

What  I  have  now  said  of  scientific  discovery,  is  equally 
applicable  to  those  suggestions  of  resemblance  and  analogy 
which  form  the  characteristic  and  charm  of  works  of 
genius  in  the  lighter  departments  of  literature.  Those 
correspondences  between  the  material  and  mental  world 
which  flash  upon  us  in  the  writings  of  some  men,  are  not 
seen  by  intuition.  The  mind  must  put  itself  in  relation 
to  them  through  the  laws  of  association  first,  as,  in  inten- 
tional memory,  it  puts  itself  in  the  relation  to  that  which 
it  wishes  to  find.  Indeed,  between  these  two  cases,  with 
one  of  which  at  least  all  are  familiar,  there  seems  to  be  a 
strikhig  analogy.  Who  has  not  sought  again  and  again 
to  recollect  a  name,  for  instance,  and  seemed  upon  the 
point  of  catching  it,  till  he  finally  gave  it  up  in  despair, 
when,  after  a  time,  it  would  come  without  etfort  ?  But 
in  this  case,  however  inscrutable  may  be  the  connection 
between  the  occurrence  of  the  name  and  the  previous 
efibrt,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  exists. 

}  am  aware  that  thoughts,  sometimes  in  our   waking 


93 

hours,  but  perhaps  more  frequently  in  dreams,  come  into  the 
mind  as  if  by  inspiration,  seeming  to  have  no  connection 
with  any  thing  previously  known.  If  this  be  the  fact, 
it  is  obvious  that  the  modes  and  laws  of  such  thoughts 
must  forever  baffle  human  scrutiny.  If  indeed  any 
choose  to  suppose  that  there  is  an  anomalous  department 
of  the  mind,  into  which  thoughts  are  let  down  from  the 
sphere  of  intellect  above  us,  or  into  which  they  float  and 
alight  at  random,  the  belief  may  be  harmless ;  but  it  can 
be  the  basis  of  no  rational  effort,  and  may  lead  us  to  neg- 
lect the  formation  of  those  habits  of  association,  by  which 
we  may  calculate  almost  with  certainty  on  the  occurrence 
of  fresh  imagery  in  the  region  of  imagination,  and  of  new 
and  striking  views  in  those  departments  of  nature  or  of 
art  to  which  we  may  turn  our  attention. 

Were  man  a  purely  intellectual  being,  originality  of 
thought,  as  now  defined  and  illustrated,  would  be  identical 
with  originality  of  character.  But  thought  is  expressed 
by  writing  and  by  conversation ;  action  is  the  index  of 
character ;  and  originality  in  one  of  these  departments  is 
not  necessarily  associated  with  it  in  the  other.  There 
have  been  original  writers  who  have  had  an  extensive  in- 
fluence without  reference  to  their  characters,  and  there 
have  been  others  who  by  their  actions  alone  have  had  an 
influence  perhaps  equally  extensive.  In  the  former  class 
we  may  rank  Bacon,  whose  works  are  stamped  with  an 
intellectual  power  that  must  give  them  authority  irrespec- 
tive of  the  question  whether  he  was,  or  was  not,  not  only 
the  wisest  and  greatest,  but  the  meanest  of  mankind.  It 
was,  on  the  other  hand,  the  actions  of  Washington  that 
exerted  a  controlling  influence  on  the  destiny  of  this  na- 
tion, and  perhaps  turned  the  balance  in  favor  of  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  liberal  principles  throughout  the  world. 
The  attestation  which  is  given  to  the  value  of  a  great 
principle  by  action,  and  especially  -by  suffering,  is  more 


94 

striking  and  nnpressive  than  any  other.  Hence  persecu- 
tion, if  it  be  manfully  endured,  causes  sects  to  flourish  ; 
hence  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  has  been  the  seed  of  the 
church.  But  it  is  only  on  great  occasions,  and  especially 
in  the  great  crises  of  human  affairs,  that  the  actions  of  an 
indiWdual  can  have  any  relation  to  the  mass  of  mankind  ; 
and  hence,  though  the  influence  of  character  be  more 
vivid  and  intense,  it  seldom  happens  that  it  can  be  so 
widely  diffused  as  that  of  the  writings  of  a  man  of 
genius. 

Still,  the  disjunction  of  thought  and  of  action  is  always 
deplorable,  since  intelligence  was  given  for  the  purpose  of 
guiding  action,  and  since,  though  exalted  intelligence  may 
command  our  admiration,  it  cannot  of  itself  secure  our 
respect,  or  exert  a  salutary  influence  over  the  whole  man. 
He  only  has  our  entire  respect,  who  walks  over  the  length 
and  breadth,  and  around  the  outermost  circle,  of  the  field 
which  a  knowledge  of  duty  surveys.  We  may  also  re- 
mark, that  the  character  of  each  individual  must  exert 
some  influence,  whereas  but  few  can  become  the  instruc- 
tors of  the  world.  Character  then,  so  far  as  it  can  be 
separated  from  intellect,  is  the  more  important,  and  so  far 
as  originality  of  character  is  desirable,  it  is  important  that 
its  elements  and  conditions  should  be  well  understood. 
These  elements  and  conditions  it  will  be  easy  to  ascertain 
by  a  reference  to  the  principles  already  laid  down,  for 
originality  of  character  bears  the  same  relation  to  ordinary 
character,  that  originality  of  thought  does  to  ordinary 
thought.  It  is  constituted  by  a  course  of  action  at  once 
differing  from  that  ordinarily  pursued,  and  at  the  same 
time  conformed  to  those  principles  of  taste,  of  rectitude, 
or  of  benevolence,  with  which  the  permanent  well-being 
of  man  is  connected.  It  is  its  germination  from  these 
principles,  which  alone  can  legitimate  and  ennoble  singu- 
larity, which  can  remove  it  equally  from  aftectation  and 
from  pride,  and  cause  the   line  of  human  conduct,  instead 


95 

of  running  athwart  the  intentions  and  providence  of  God, 
to  harmonize  with  them. 

It  was  because  the  actions  of  Howard  and  of  Raikes 
sprang  from  those  principles  which  have  their  foundation 
in  the  nature  of  man,  and  which,  though  at  the  time  un- 
appreciated and  neglected,  were  demanded  by  the  wants 
of  society,  that  they  gave  such  an  impulse  to  the  human 
mind,  and  that  their  lives  form  an  era  in  the  history  of  the 
imprisoned  and  of  the  young.  It  was  because  Washing- 
ton turned  aside  from  the  vulgar  path  of  successful  mili- 
tary chieftains  in  all  ages,  out  of  respect  to  the  dignity  of 
the  people  and  their  right  of  self-government,  that  his 
name  is  the  watchword  and  bulwark  of  freedom,  and  that 
he  stands,  and  must  stand,  in  the  van  of  those  who  con- 
tend for  constitutional  liberty,  as  he  once  stood  in  the  van 
of  the  armies  of  his  country. 

But  the  example  of  originality  which  eclipses  all  others, 
and  stands  in  unapproachable  majesty,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  character  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He  refused 
conformity  to  no  practice  for  the  sake  of  singularity ;  he 
ran  into  no  eccentricity  or  extravagance ;  but  "  he  knew 
what  was  in  man,"  and  what  course  of  conduct  was 
necessary  for  the  consolidation  and  peace  of  human  so- 
ciety, and  for  the  completeness  and  perfection  of  that 
nature  which  he  had  assumed.  This  course  of  conduct 
he  invariably  pursued,  regardless  of  the  opinions  and  cor- 
ruptions of  the  age.  Especially  did  he,  in  an  age  of  sel- 
fishness, and  ferocity,  and  retaliation,  enforce,  and  raise  to 
their  proper  dignity,  and  most  touchingly  exemplify,  the 
virtues  of  universal  charity,  of  meekness,  and  of  forgive- 
ness. It  was  this  peculiarity,  far  more  than  his  precepts, 
that  made  him  the  light  of  the  world ;  and  such  was  the 
completeness  of  his  character,  that  it  is  no  longer  possible 
to  originate  any  new  principle  which  can  be  applied  to 
the  melioration  of  our  own  condition,  or  that  of  the 
race.  All  such  principles  are  embraced  in  the  spirit 
which  he  manifested. 


96 

From  what  has  noAV  been  said,  as  well  as  from  the 
definition  given  of  original  character,  it  will  appear  that 
origniality  of  thought  not  only  does  not  confer  it,  but 
that  it  is  not  in  all  cases  essential  to  it.  Its  true  basis  is 
moral  courage.  Most  communities  are  sunk  more  or  less 
into  a  practical  neglect  of  those  principles  of  action  the 
authority  of  which  they  acknowledge,  even  when  they 
know  where  and  how  to  apply  them.  Truths  on  which 
duty  depends,  and  which  ought  to  be  living  truths,  are 
indeed  m  their  minds,  and  are  perhaps  organized  into  a 
theoretical  system ;  but  they  are  there  as  the  body  of 
Lazarus  was  in  the  grave,  and  it  never  fails  to  excite 
astonishment  when  they  come  forth  in  the  vigor  of  full 
activity.  There  is  no  community  in  which  he  would 
not  be  reckoned  a  phenomenon,  in  whose  conduct  the 
truths  dormant  in  his  rational  and  spiritual  nature  should 
expand  themselves  fully  into  action.  But  it  requires  no 
common  powers  of  intellect  to  carry  forward  these  truths 
into  the  conduct ;  and  he  who  advances,  were  it  but  one 
step,  before  those  around  him,  is  original,  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  term.  He  has  his  hand  on  the  only  key 
that  will  unlock  the  gates  of  millennial  glory  and  let  in 
its  light  upon  the  world. 

But  there  are  whole  classes  of  duties  neglected  now,  as 
well  as  there  were  in  the  days  of  Howard  and  of  Raikes ; 
there  are  practices  cherished  in  the  bosom  of  the  commu- 
nity, as  intemperance  and  the  slave  trade  once  were, 
whose  deformity  is  covered  up  by  the  thick  folds  which 
self-love  and  inveterate  habit  have  cast  around  them.  So 
entirely  are  these  often  lost  sight  of,  and  buried  up,  that 
to  show  by  precept  and  example  the  application  of  truth 
to  them,  requires  originality  both  of  thought  and  of  char- 
acter. The  doing  of  this  opens  a  wide  and  promising 
field  to  the  philanthropist  ;  and  the  world  needs  men  who 
will  enter  it,  without  passion,  without  egotism,  without 
ambition,  feeling  that  they  have  a  ministry   to  perform 


97 

under  the  guidance  of  a  great  and  a  holy  principle.  The 
beams  of  truth,  or  what  on  moral  subjects  is  the  same 
thing,  the  beams  of  the  Gospel,  must  be  turned  into  those 
chambers  of  imagery  which  they  have  not  yet  penetrated, 
and  must  be  held  there,  till  they  fray  away,  and  burn  out, 
every  thing  which  cannot  endure  them.  It  has  not  been 
by  originating  new  principles,  that  the  cause  of  temper- 
ance heis  been  carried  forward.  The  principles  of  tem- 
perance are  as  old  as  the  constitution  of  man,  and  are 
fully  ratified  in  the  Bible.  But  it  has  been  advanced 
because  men  have  learned  better  than  formerly,  what 
these  principles  mean  when  translated  into  action.  And 
so  it  will  be  on  other  subjects.  We  need  no  new  princi- 
ples ;  those  which  we  have  are  sufficient.  We  need  no 
new  revelation,  nor,  as  is  said  by  some,  any  modification 
or  improvement  of  the  one  we  have,  to  adapt  it  to  the 
progressive  state  of  society.  All  the  improvement  which 
it  needs,  is  the  translation  of  its  principles  into  action  ; 
and  there  is  not  an  agitation  on  the  bosom  of  society 
which  they  would  not  allay,  nor  a  foul  ingredient  in  its 
turbid  mass  which  they  would  not  precipitate. 

From  what  has  been  said  of  originality  of  character,  it 
will  also  be  seen  that,  its  value  and  the  demand  for  it  will 
depend  on  the  state  of  society.  In  a  community  in 
which  correct  principles  and  conduct  were  universal, 
there  would  be  no  room  for  it, — there  will  be  no  room  for 
it  in  heaven.  And  this  leads  me  to  remark  on  a  single 
danger  to  which  we  are  exposed  in  seeking  for  this  qual- 
ity, whether  of  style  or  of  character.  Originality  pur- 
sues its  own  independent  course,  and  a  prurient  desire  for 
distinction  is  as  fatal  to  it  as  imitation  or  contented  medi- 
ocrity. It  perhaps  as  often  requires  good  sense  to  go  on 
quietly  with  the  multitude  when  they  are  right,  as  to 
pursue  alone  the  line  of  correct  taste,  or  of  principle, 
when  they  depart  from  it.  But  the  young  and  the  impa- 
tient, goaded  on  by  the  stimulus  of  applause,  rather  than 
13 


98 

moved  by  the  deeper  and  more  solemn  inspiration  of  na- 
ture and  of  truth,  dishke  to  wait  for  the  growth  of  a  repu- 
tation that   struggles  slowly  upward   like  the   oak,  and 
choose  rather  to  flatter  the  caprice   of  the  moment,  than 
to  study,  and  adhere  to,  enduring  principles.     Perhaps  no 
example  in  the  history  of  literature  shows  more  strikingly 
the  transient  nature  of  productions  thus  originated,  and 
the  ultimate  and  certain  triumph  of  one  who  does  study 
and   patiently    adhere    to    such   principles,  than   that   of 
Wordsworth,  '  laker  '  though  he  be.     The  artillery  which 
was  levelled  at  him  at  the  commencement  of  his  career, 
exploded  with  the  huzzas  of  the  multitude,  but  he  re- 
ceived the  shot  unmoved.     And  now,  his  reputation  lifts 
itself  on  high  in  its  greenness  and  freshness,  and  when  in 
coming  time  it  shall  stand  in  still  brighter  green,  the  at- 
tacks which  were  made  upon  it  shall  live  only  like,  the 
parasitic  plant,  which  derives  its  nourishment  from  that  to 
which  it  adheres.     It  is  this  restless  desire  for  distinction, 
that  gives  rise  to  the  ephemeral   fashions  in  the  style  of 
literature,  and  burdens  time  with  so  many  works  which 
he  will  shake  off  long  before  he  reaches  posterity.     Hence 
too  it  is  that,  in  character,  eflfect  is  studied  rather  than 
consistency.     As  the  readiest  way  of  being  seen,   those 
under  the   influence   of  this  desire  often  change  into  a 
color  the  opposite  of  that  upon  which  they  are  fixed,  and 
while   they  suppose  themselves  original,  have  really  no 
character  at  all.     One  is  sentimental,  another  blustering, 
one  is  slouching,  another  finical,  and  all  equally  afl'ected. 
Hence  we  had  at  one   time  numbers  of  young  Byrons, 
who  went  without  cravats  and  drank  gin,  and  who  aspired 
to  the  dignity  of  being  misanthropical  and  wicked,  when 
they  were   only  ridiculous ;  hence  we  had  fops  after  the 
model  of  Pelham ;  and  hence  too  you  will  find  starthig  up 
in  the  bosom  of  Christianity,  often  in  our  colleges,  young 
infidels  who  know  little  and  care   less  about   the   truth  of 
revelation,  and  who,  if  infidelity  were  the  fashion,  would 


99 

argue  most  strenuously  for  the  Bible.  Nothing  that  is 
thus  based  on  accidental  association  and  caprice,  can  pos- 
sess permanence  or  dignity.  It  is  not  alone  the  diurnal 
and  apparent  motions  of  the  system  with  which  we  are 
connected,  that  the  author  must  notice,  whose  works  are 
to  be  valued ;  he  must  place  himself  in  the  centre,  and  so 
observe  its  real  motions  that  his  words  shall  be,  in  their 
spirit,  a  prophecy  of  the  future  :  it  is  not  by  a  factitious 
standard  that  the  conduct  is  to  be  guided  that  shall  com- 
bine security  with  dignity ;  it  must  be  so  directed  as  to 
meet  the  actual,  the  proclaimed  and  punctual  arrangements 
of  nature,  for  her  mighty  vessel  puts  not  back  to  receive 
the  lingerer.  If  the  doing  of  this  be  not  originality,  I 
must  leave  it  to  others  to  seek  such  a  definition  of  the 
term  as  may  please  them ;  but  it  can  hardly  be  our  duty, 
whatever  it  may  be,  to  labor  for  its  attainment. 

If  there  ever  was  a  period  when  the  course  of  thought 
and  of  action  now  indicated  was  called  for  by  the  wants 
of  society,  this  is  that  period.  Especially  is  there  needed 
that  form  of  originality  which  shall  more  perfectly  de- 
velope  known  principles  of  action,  and  extend  them  in 
new  directions.  Obvious  as  moral  principles  may  appear, 
they  often  remain — like  those  of  mechanics,  or  like  the 
force  of  steam — long  unapplied,  though  capable  of  effect- 
ing far  more  than  those  for  the  real  advancement  of  so- 
ciety. It  is,  indeed,  the  very  application  of  these  latter 
principles  with  so  much  success — the  triumphs  of  man 
over  time  and  space,  together  with  the  new  forms  that 
society  is  assuming — that  renders  this  call  imperious.  The 
power  of  man  over  nature  is  now  greater  than  at  any 
former  period  ;  invention  is  laying  the  labor  of  man  upon 
the  untiring  elements ;  steam  is  hurrying  forward  our 
merchandize,  and  turning  the  wheels  of  our  machinery, 
and  reaching  its  long  arms  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
and  bringing  up  for  us  its  treasures  ;  every  thing  that  can 
minister  to  the  appetites,   and  foster  pride,  and  pamper 


100 

luxury,  and  stimulate  and  give  facilities  to  ambition, 
offers  itself  to  easy  acquisition.  There  is  a  tendency  to 
measure  the  progress  of  the  age  by  these  external  means 
of  enterprise  and  enjoyment ;  and  the  course  of  educa- 
tion is  too  much  guided  in  reference  to  a  utility  that  can 
be  tested  by  the  ledger,  to  the  neglect  of  that  higher 
utility,  that  sees  in  all  these  but  the  means  of  a  more  ex- 
pansive benevolence,  and  of  an  end  truly  valuable  in  the 
education  and  moral  improvement  of  man.  But  if  the 
sun  of  our  prosperity  is  to  reach  its  meridian,  the  reins  of 
its  chariot  must  not  be  intrusted  to  a  mechanical  and 
sensualized  utility,  that  will  be  reckless  of  scorching  and 
withering  up  every  generous  principle,  and  fresh  affection, 
and  noble  sentiment,  and  high  aspiration  ;  it  must  rather 
be  so  guided  as  to  quicken  these  into  new  vigor,  and 
cause  them  to  take  deeper  root  and  to  overtop  the  un- 
sightly and  noxious  plants  by  which  they  are  so  often 
choked.  If,  under  the  excitement  of  all  that  can  stimu- 
late the  lower  nature  of  man,  the  principles  of  his  morad 
and  spiritual  nature  do  not  receive  a  correspondent  expan- 
sion, and  vigor  of  action,  there  can  be  nothing  to  control 
the  fierce  and  thickening  struggle  of  conflicting  interests, 
and  we  shall  but  furnish  another,  and  a  signal  illustration 
of  the  truth  of  that  saying  of  the  wise  man,  "  The  pros- 
perity of  fools  shall  destroy  them." 


101 


TWO   LECTURES, 

ON  THE  CONNECTION  BETWEEN  TASTE  AND  MOKALS, 


LECTURE    I. 

Is  the  prevalence  of  a  cultivated  taste  favorable  to 
morals  ?  Is  there  a  connection,  either  in  individuals,  or 
in  communities,  between  good  taste  and  good  morals  ? 

When  I  began  to  reflect  upon  this  point  with  reference 
to  a  public  discussion  of  it,  I  put  the  above  questions  to 
three  educated  men,  as  I  happened  to  meet  them.  The 
first  said,  he  had  not  thought  of  it,  but  that,  at  the  first 
view,  he  did  not  believe  there  was  any  such  connection ; 
the  second  said,  he  should  wish  to  see  it  proved  before  he 
would  believe  it ;  and  the  third  said,  he  thought  there 
was  such  a  connection.  This  difference  of  opinion  among 
educated  men  led  me  to  think  that  an  investigation  of 
the  subject  might  be  a  matter  of  interest,  and  perhaps  of 
profit.  As  every  thing,  in  this  country,  depends  upon  a 
sound  state  of  morals  in  the  community,  whatever  bears 
upon  that  deserves  our  most  careful  scrutiny. 

To  discuss  this  subject  understandingly,  we  must  know 
precisely  what  we  are  talking  about.  What  then  is  taste  ? 
This  term  is  sometimes  used  to  express  mere  desire,  as  a 
taste  for  dress,  or  for  low  pleasures.  It  can  hardly  be  ne- 
cessary to  say  that  that  is  not  the  meaning  now  attached 


102 

to  it.  Taste  is  defined  by  Alison,  to  be,  ''  That  faculty 
of  the  human  mind  by  which  we  perceive  and  enjoy 
whatever  is  beautiful  or  sublime  in  the  works  of  nature 
or  of  art."  According  to  this  definition,  which  is  suffi- 
ciently correct  for  our  present  purpose,  it  will  be  perceived 
that  there  is,  first,  a  perception  of  certain  qualities  in  ex- 
ternal objects,  and  then,  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
object,  an  emotion  of  beauty  or  of  sublimity  in  the  mind. 
These  emotions  are,  of  course,  incapable  of  definition  ex- 
cept by  stating  the  occasions  on  which  they  arise,  and 
can  be  known  only  by  being  felt.  To  talk  of  an  emotion 
to  those  who  have  not  felt  it,  is  like  talking  of  colors  to 
the  blind.  And  here  I  may  remark,  that  these  terms, 
beauty  and  sublimity,  have,  in  common  with  those  de- 
noting sensations,  an  ambiguity  which  has  often  produced 
confusion.  As  the  term  heat  is  used  to  denote  both  the 
sensation  we  feel  on  approaching  the  fire,  and  that  quality 
in  the  fire  which  produces  the  sensation,  so  beauty  and 
sublimity  are  sometimes  used  to  express  the  emotions  in 
the  mind,  and  sometimes  those  qualities  in  external  objects 
which  are  fitted  to  produce  them,  though  there  is,  of 
course,  in  the  external  object,  no  emotion,  nor  any  thing 
resembhng  one. 

If  this  account  of  taste  be  correct,  it  will  be  perceived 
that  it  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be  compared,  as  it 
often  has  been,  to  a  bodily  sense.  The  impression  upon 
a  bodily  sense  necessarily  follows  the  presence  of  the 
object,  and  is  uniform  in  all  mankind.  A  tree  clothed  in 
fresh  foliage  is  necessarily  seen,  and  seen  to  be  green  by 
all  who  turn  their  eyes  upon  it.  The  same  tree,  when 
seen,  may  be  pronounced  by  one  individual  to  be  beau- 
tiful, by  another,  from  some  peculiar  association,  to  be 
the  reverse,  and  by  a  third,  however  beautiful  in  itself,  it 
may  be  looked  upon  without  any  emotion  at  all.  It  is, 
therefore,  a  great  mistake  to  suppose,  as  many  do,  that 
those  qualities  in  objects  which  awaken  the  emotions  of 


103 

taste,  act  directly  and  necessarily  upon  us,  like  those 
which  affect  the  senses.  A  second  preliminary  inquiry  is, 
What  are  the  causes  which  produce  these  emotions  ?  And 
here  I  barely  remark,  without  inquiring  after  any  common 
principle  by  which  they  produce  similar  results,  that  these 
causes  differ  widely  from  each  other.  The  emotions  may 
be  awakened  by  natural  objects,  by  sound,  by  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  imagination,  by  the  combinations  of  the  in- 
tellect, and  by  certain  manifestations  of  the  affections  and 
moral  character. 

A  third  inquiry  is,  how  the  taste  can  be  cultivated  ? 
This  obviously  can  be  done  only  on  two  conditions. 
The  first  is,  that  we  put  ourselves  in  situations  adapted  to 
produce  the  emotions  of  taste  ;  and  the  second  is,  that  we 
preserve  a  state  of  mind  that  will  permit  those  emotions 
to  arise.  This  last,  a  proper  state  of  mind,  though  less 
often  considered,  is  quite  as  important  as  the  first.  "It 
is,"  says  the  poet, 

"  the  soul  that  sees ;  the  outward  eyes 
Present  the  object,  but  the  mind  descries, 
And  thence  deUght,  disgust,  or  cool  indifference  rise." 

Upon  him  whose  mind  is  engrossed  by  care,  or  ruffled 
by  passion,  the  most  beautiful  objects  make  no  impression. 
To  perceive  and  enjoy  them,  the  mind  must  be  calm. 
The  beauties  and  sublimities  of  nature  are  like  the  stars, 
which  the  storm  shuts  out,  but  when  the  heavens  are 
serene,  they  come  out,  one  after  another,  to  the  eye  that 
is  watching  for  them,  till  the  firmament  glows  with  their 
light.  He,  therefore,  and  he  only,  who,  in  a  proper  state 
of  mind,  will  place  himself  in  the  presence  of  beautiful 
or  sublime  objects,  and  will  compare  the  effects  produced 
under  different  circumstances,  will  improve  his  taste,  both 
in  its  susceptibility  to  emotion,  and  in  its  power  of  dis- 
crimination. 

The    question   then,   which  we  are   now  prepared  to 


104 

discuss,  is,  whether  such  a  cultivation  and  improvement 
of  the  taste  has  a  favorable  effect  upon  the  moral  char- 
acter ? 

That  it  has  such  an  effect,  I  infer,  first,  because  we 
find  in  the  emotions  of  taste,  to  say  the  least,  an  innocent 
source  of  enjoyment  for  our  leisure  hours,  and  the  mind 
that  is  innocently  happy  is  less  accessible  to  temptation. 
Indolence,  mere  vacuity,  we  all  know,  is  the  porch  of 
vice,  and  the  great  dangers  to  the  young  arise  from  their 
leisure  hours — from  the  want  of  some  means  of  innocent 
mental  exhilaration,  in  which  they  can  be  induced  to 
spend  those  hours.  It  was  said  by  Franklin,  that  leisure 
was  a  time  in  which  to  do  something  useful ;  but  all  are 
not  Franklins.  If  leisure  time  can  be,  as  it  is  by  many, 
usefully  employed,  so  much  the  better ;  but  he  who 
should  provide  for  our  youth  the  means  and  the  induce- 
ments to  spend  their  leisure  time  innocently,  would  be  a 
public  benefactor.  In  our  cities,  where  the  temptations 
to  mere  sensual  gratification  are  so  numerous  and  obtru- 
sive, and  where  natural  objects  are  very  much  excluded, 
this  is  a  point  of  great  importance  and  of  great  difficulty. 
Until  of  late  very  little  of  this  kind  has  been  attempted, 
unless  theatres  may  be  called  an  attempt.  But  theatres 
with  us  are  out  of  the  question,  for  Miss  Martineau  says 
that  ''  the  Americans  have  very  little  dramatic  taste  ;  and 
that  the  spirit  of  puritanism  still  rises  up  in  such  fierce 
opposition  to  the  stage,  as  to  forbid  the  hope  that  this 
grand  means  of  intellectual  exercise  will  ever  be  made 
the  instrument  of  moral  good  to  society  there,  that  it 
might  be  made."  She  says,  moreover,  so  hopeless  is  our 
case,  that  "  those  who  respect  dramatic  entertainments  the 
most  highly,  will  be  the  most  anxious  that  the  American 
theatres  should  be  closed."  Theatres  are  indeed  out  of 
the  question,  and  I  trust  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  we 
shall  make  progress  backwards,  to  that  state  of  morals 
which  is  produced  by  the  instructions  even  of  an  English 
theatre. 


105 

It  is  in  view  of  the  want  now  under  consideration,  that 
the  establishment  of  associations  for  literary  purposes,  and 
for  procuring  popular  lectures  open  to  all,  is  not  only  a 
new,  but  a  most  prominent  feature  in  the  history  of  our 
cities.  Man  needs,  and  must  have,  excitement  and  men- 
tal exhilaration  ;  and  our  Creator,  if  we  would  but  see  it, 
has  not  been  inattentive  to  this  want  of  our  frame.  No  ; 
to  supply  it,  we  have  the  pleasures  of  rational  social  con- 
verse, the  play  of  the  affections,  the  duties  of  kindness 
and  benevolence,  (does  a  man  feel  depressed,  let  him  do 
a  good  action,)  and  last,  but  not  least,  the  gratifications  of 
taste  :  all  the  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  the  concord  of 
sweet  sounds,  from  the  charms  of  literature,  from  the 
forms  and  colors  and  groupings  of  nature,  from  her  sun- 
risings  and  sunsettings,  from  her  landscapes  of  mountain 
and  valley  and  lake  and  river,  from  the  stars  that  roll  in 
their  courses  and  the  flowers  that  nod  to  each  other  by 
the  way-side.  These  are  the  sources  of  mental  exhilara- 
tion which  God  has  provided  ;  and  they  are,  to  the  artifi- 
cial stimulants  of  theatrical  exhibitions  and  of  gambling, 
what  the  cold  water  that  was  drank  in  Eden  is  to  brandy 
and  gin.  May  I  not  here  venture  to  say  to  young  men, 
^  Beware  how  you  spend  your  leisure  hours !  Your 
character  and  destiny  in  life  will  probably  turn  upon  it.' 
Among  the  means,  as  I  have  already  said,  of  spending 
these  hours  at  least  innocently,  the  gratifications  of  taste 
are  conspicuous.  They  seem  for  this  very  purpose  to 
have  been  had  distinctly  in  view  in  the  fitting  up  of  this 
world  ;  and  so  far  as  they  lure  the  mind  from  the  lower 
gratifications  of  sense,  they  must  be  favorable  to  morals. 

The  remarks  now  made  respect  taste  chiefly  as  a  guard 
against  evil ;  but  I  cannot  dismiss  this  head  without  no- 
ticing more  fully  its  positive  influence,  as  a  source  of  in- 
nocent enjoyment,  upon  morals.  A  good  taste,  and  I  do 
not  hold  myself  answerable  for  its  perversions,  involves  a 
ready  susceptibility  to  the  emotions  of  beauty  and  sub- 
14 


106 

limity,  and  of  course  a  readiness  to  receive  pleasure  from 
the  common  appearances  of  nature,  and  from  every  free 
and  natural  expression  of  good  feeling.  It  is,  in  my  view, 
of  the  first  importance,  both  to  character  and  to  happiness, 
that  the  3^oung  should  cultivate  a  relish  for  those  simple 
and  natural  pleasures,  the  sources  of  which  are  open  to 
all.  It  is  important  to  happiness.  How  much  happiness 
does  the  young  florist  secure,  who  can  look  upon  the  com- 
mon violet,  as  it  opens  its  eye  from  under  the  snows  of 
the  early  spring,  with  much  the  same  pleasure  as  upon 
the  choice  exotic,  which  is  resorted  to  and  exclusively 
admired  by  those  who  have  unfortunately  been  taught 
that  it  is  vulgar  to  admire  what  is  common  !  How  much 
happiness  does  he  secure  who  is  touched  by  a  beautiful 
action  wherever  he  sees  it,  who  appreciates  sympathy 
wherever  he  finds  it,  and  however  expressed  !  A  mind 
rightly  constituted  in  this  respect,  drinks  in  enjoyment 
from  the  objects  and  occurrences  of  daily  life,  as  the  eye 
does  light.  It  is  also  essential  to  character.  How  many 
young  men  enter  life  with  a  false  estimate  of  the  advan- 
tages which  wealth  and  fashion  can  confer;  who  find 
their  happiness,  not  in  the  contemplation  and  pursuit  of 
appropriate  objects,  but  in  what  others  think  of  them,  and 
to  whom  the  world  becomes  insipid  unless  they  make  a 
figure  in  it !  Let  now  misfortune  come  upon  such  men, 
and  the  world  fails  them.  Their  world  is  gone ;  they 
have  no  resource  ;  they  become,  generally  dishonest, 
sometimes  inefficient  and  gloomy,  and  sometimes  commit 
suicide.  These  persons  come  to  consider  the  common 
and  truly  great  blessings  which  God  has  given  as  nothing, 
unless  they  may  f  ossess  those  artificial  and  egotistical 
enjoyments  which  arise  from  conventional  society.  They 
see  not  the  splendid  ornaments  and  rich  provisions  which, 
to  adopt,  with  a  slight  accommodation,  the  beautiful  lan- 
guage of  another,  are  gathered  round  the  earth  for  them  ,• 
— <•  its  ocean  of  air  above,   its  ocean  of  water  beneath, 


107 

its  zodiac  of  lights,  its  tent  of  dropping  clouds,  its  striped 
coat  of  climates,  its  fourfold  year.''  It  is  nothing  to 
them,  if  they  have  not  man  for  their  servant,  that  ''all 
the  parts  of  nature  iijcessantly  work  into  each  other's 
hands  for  their  profit  ;  that  the  wind  sows  the  seed,  the 
sun  evaporates  the  sea,  the  wind  blows  the  vapor  to  the 
field,  the  ice  on  the  other  side  of  the  planet  condenses  the 
rain  on  this,  and  thus  the  endless  circulations  of  the  di- 
vine charity  nourish  man."  What  a  change  when  such  a 
person  is  brought  back  to  a  true  relish  of  the  simple 
pleasures  of  nature  !  Even  sickness,  depriving  him  for  a 
time  of  what  he  had  undervalued,  if  it  bring  him  back  to 
this,  is  a  blessing ;  and  then  the  result  may  be  stated  in 
the  words  of  Gray  : — 

*'  See  the  wretch  who  long  has  tost 
On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain, 
At  length  regain  his  vigor  lost, 
And  breathe  and  walk  again." 

Then, 

"  The  meanest  flow'ret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale. 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies. 
To  him  are  opening  paradise !  " 

Then,  though  he  may  hold  little  property  by  that  title 
which  the  law  gives,  he  yet  feels  that  the  universe  is  his 
for  those  nobler  purposes  for  which  it  was  intended  to  act 
on  the  spirit : 

"  His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers;  " 

and  he  looks  back  upon  his  former  discontent  as  the  petu- 
lance of  a  child.  The  simple  beauties  and  the  glad  voices 
of  nature  have  made  him  a  man  again. 

But  again,  I  infer  that  there  is  a  connection  between 
good  taste  and  good  morals,  because  there  is  an  analogy 


108 

between  those  qualities  in  matter  which  excite  the  emo- 
tions of  taste,  and  those  relations  on  which  morals  depend. 
So  much  is  this  the  case,  that  some  philosophers  found 
morality  upon  a  theory  of  the  beautiful,  considering  it  a 
sublime  harmony.  In  all  beautiful  objects  in  nature,  or 
in  art,  there  is  an  order,  a  propriety,  a  fitness,  a  propor- 
tion ;  and  the  impression  which  these  make  upon  us  is  so 
analogous  to  that  which  is  made  by  virtuous  conduct,  that 
we  use  the  same  terms  to  express  both.  To  me,  indeed, 
it  seems  that  beauty  in  matter  is  to  moral  beauty  what 
instinct  is  to  reason,  or  what  the  light  of  the  moon  is  to 
that  of  the  sun  ;  containing  some  of  the  same  elements, 
but  destitute  of  the  highest.  Hence,  as  we  should  natu- 
rally expect,  morals  furnish  that  region  in  the  province  of 
taste  in  which  she  gathers  those  flowers  that  are  richest 
in  beauty  and  sweetest  in  perfume. 

"  Is  aught  so  fair. 
In  all  the  dewy  landscape  of  the  spring, 
In  the  bright  eye  of  Hesper,  or  the  morn. 
In  nature's  fairest  forms,  is  aught  so  fair. 
As  virtuous  friendship  ?  " 

But  I  observe  again,  that  as  there  is  the  analogy  just 
pointed  out  between  their  causes,  so  there  is  an  aflinity 
between  the  emotions  themselves  of  taste  and  correct 
moral  feeling,  and  the  transition  from  one  to  the  other  is 
obvious.  This  point  requires  illustration.  That  our 
emotions  are  associated  in  groups,  is  practically  known  to 
every  body.  Even  the  child  does  not  ask  his  father  for  a 
sixpence  when  he  is  in  an  ill  temper,  because  he  knows 
the  transition  is  not  easy  from  ill  temper  to  generosity. 
Deep  grief  cannot  pass  at  once  to  sudden  joy.  It  must 
be  by  a  gradual  transition,  first  to  a  tender  melancholy, 
and  then  to  cheerfulness,  and  then  to  joy.  ''  The  gar- 
ment of  sorrow,"  as  Coleridge  expresses  it,  '^  must  be 
drawn  off  so  gradually,  and  that  to  be  put  in  its  stead  so 
gradually  slipt  on  and  feel   so  like  the  former,  that  the 


109 

sufferer  shall  be  sensible  of  the  change  only  by  the 
refreshment."  It  is  by  understanding  well  these  affinities 
of  the  feelings,  that  the  orator  can  continue  to  control 
them  as  they  pass  over  their  widest  range.  The  neces- 
sity of  a  suitable  state  of  mind  in  order  that  the  emotions 
of  taste  may  arise,  has  already  been  noticed,  and  what  I 
now  observe  is,  that  a  state  of  correct  moral  feeling  is 
more  favorable  to  these  emotions  than  any  other.  There 
is  between  them  such  an  affinity  that  they  readily  asso- 
ciate with  each  other  ;  while  there  is,  between  the  emo- 
tions of  taste  and  a  vicious  state  of  mind,  no  such 
affinity,  but  they  are  to  a  great  extent  incompatible. 

The  external  world  often  gives  back  to  us  but  the  image 
of  our  own  thoughts,  and  hence  may  seem  almost  as  vari- 
able as  the  dim  forms  of  twilight  to  which  the  imagina- 
tion gives  its  own  shape.  This  tendency  of  the  mind  to 
cast  its  own  hue  over  nature,  or  rather  to  receive  different 
emotions  from  external  objects,  according  to  its  own  state, 
is  well  illustrated  by  Crabbe,  in  his  tale  called  "  The 
Lover's  Journey."  In  this  tale,  Orlando,  the  lover,  starts 
on  a  pleasant  morning  with  the  expectation  of  finding  the 
object  of  his  affections  at  a  village,  where  she  had  agreed 
to  meet  him.  The  first  part  of  his  journey  lay  across  a 
heath  covered  with  furze.     But  hear  him  : — 

"  Men  may  say 
A  heath  is  barren ;  nothing  is  so  gay; 
Barren  or  bare  to  call  this  charming  scene 
Argues  a  mind  possessed  by  care  or  spleen." 

And  thus  he  went  on,  admiring  the  wholesome  worm- 
wood and  the  vigorous  brier,  till  he  reached  the  village, 
and  then  disappointment  came.  The  lady  had  gone  to  a 
village  some  miles  further  on,  under  circumstances  that 
vexed  him,  and  led  him  to  doubt  her  affection.  He 
doubted  even  whether  he  should  proceed,  but  at  length 
determined   to   see   and    upbraid   her.      Now   hear   him 


no 

again,  as  he  passes  along  by  the  side  of  a  beautiful 
river : — 

"  I  hate  these  scenes,  Orlando  angry  cried  ; 
And  these  proud  farmers,  yes,  I  hate  their  pride ; 
See  that  sleek  fellow,  how  he  stalks  along, 
Strong  as  an  ox,  and  ignorant  as  strong. 
These  deep,  fat  meadows  I  detest;  it  shocks 
One's  feelings  there  to  see  the  grazing  ox; — 
For  slaughter  fatted — as  a  lady's  smile 
Rejoices  man,  and  means  his  death  the  while." 

And  if  mere  disappointment,  without  a  consciousness  of 
guilt  and  remorse,  could  produce  such  effects,  what  must 
we  expect  when  the  mind  is  not  at  peace  with  itself? 
Tendencies  are  shown  by  extreme  cases,  and  it  is  in  per- 
fect consistency  with  the  nature  of  things,  that  Milton 
makes  Satan  exclaim,  on  seeing  Eden  in  its  united  imao- 
cence  and  beauty, 

"  0  hell !    what  do  mine  eyes  with  grief  behold  !  " 

Who  can  imagine  a  miser,  even,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
thief  or  a  drunkard,  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  buried 
heaps,  and  enjoying  the  scene  before  him,  however  beau- 
tiful ?  While  he  who  performs  a  deed  of  charity  at  the 
end  of  his  walk,  will  find  nature  wearing  a  richer  dress 
on  his  return.  The  mind  conscious  of  rectitude  is  at 
peace  with  itself,  and  is  in  that  calm  state  which  permits 
it  to  enjoy  whatever  is  pleasing. 

But  not  only,  as  in  the  cases  now  mentioned,  is  a  right 
state  of  moral  feeling  favorable  to  taste,  but  the  emotions 
of  taste  also  tend  to  introduce  moral  ideas  and  emotions. 
It  is,  as  I  conceive,  chiefly  from  this  fact  that  nature  has 
a  tendency  to  lead  the  mind  '^  up  to  nature's  God  ;  "  for 
we  must  all  be  conscious  that  when  we  view  nature  as 
beautiful  or  sublime,  this  tendency  is  strongest.  No  one 
can  have  stood  by  Niagara,  or  upon  the  White  Mountains, 
without   feeling   this.     Hence  the  groves  and  the  high 


Ill 

hills  were  the  first  places  of  worship.  Hence  the  Indian 
sacrifices  to  the  Great  Spirit  when  he  passes  through  the 
wild  rapids.  And  as  we  associate  the  beauties  of  nature 
with  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God,  so  do  we,  in 
many  cases,  instinctively  infer  from  the  displays  of  taste 
in  man,  something  of  his  moral  character.  Who,  for 
example,  in  travelling  through  a  solitary  forest,  if  he 
should  come,  as  there  are  many  such,  to  a  neat  log-house, 
with  a  trellised  woodbine  at  the  door,  and  with  every 
thing  orderly  and  clean  about  it,  would  not  expect  to  pass 
by  unmolested,  or,  if  he  should  call,  to  be  civilly  and 
kindly  treated  ? — whereas,  if  every  thing  bore  the  appear- 
ance of  filth  and  dilapidation,  and  the  only  signs  of  taste 
were  those  which  indicated  a  taste  for  rum,  he  .might 
well  quicken  his  pace  for  fear  he  should  be  waylaid.  No 
one  expects  to  find  indications  of  taste  about  the  dwell- 
ing of  a  drunkard,  or  of  one  abandoned  to  any  low  vice. 
I  appeal  to  any  one  who  hears  me,  whether  he  has  not 
felt  that  it  was  an  indication  of  a  good  moral  character, 
and  an  encouragement  to  charity,  when  he  has  entered 
some  poor  dwelling  and  found  that  there  was  still  kept 
alive,  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  a  susceptibility  to  the 
emotions,  and  a  regard  to  the  requisitions  of  taste. 

I  have  just  observed,  that  there  is  an  affinity  between 
correct  moral  feeling  and  the  emotions  of  taste.  I  now 
observe,  that  the  highest  pleasures  of  taste  cannot  be 
enjoyed  without  correct  views  on  great  moral  subjects, 
and  especially  respecting  the  being  and  attributes  of  God. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  power  of  material  objects, 
in  themselves  considered,  to  produce  the  emotions  of 
taste,  it  is  certain  that  their  chief  power  depends  on  the 
conceptions  of  the  mind  which  they  awaken  as  signs. 
A  single  instance  will  illustrate  this.  Most  of  us  have 
probably  felt  the  emotion  of  sublimity  on  hearing  what 
we  supposed  to  be  distant  thunder,  which  vanished,  and 
perhaps  seemed  ridiculous,  the  moment  we  ascertained 


112 

that  the  sound  was  produced  by  the  rumbling  of  a  cart. 
In  this  case,  it  is  obvious  that  the  emotion  depended,  not 
on  the  sound  itself,  but  on  the  conception  of  the  mind 
awakened  by  it.  Now  this  is  pre-eminently  the  case  in 
the  works  of  nature.  How  different  must  be  the  emo- 
tions awakened  by  a  view  of  the  evening  firmament  in 
the  mind  of  him  who  should  suppose  the  stars  to  be 
mere  points  of  light,  set  at  no  great  distance  above  him, 
and  moving  around  the  earth  solely  for  the  convenience 
of  man,  from  those  awakened  in  the  mind  of  him  to 
whom  those  points  of  light  indicate  the  existence  of  an 
infinite  space,  and  of  suns,  and  worlds,  and  systems  with- 
out number,  and  at  distances  which  cause  the  wing  of 
the  strongest  imagination  to  flag  !  How  difi'erent  the 
emotions  produced  by  the  comet  now,  as  it  returns  at  its 
predicted  period,  from  those  excited  as  it  fired 

"  the  length  of  Ophiucus  huge 
In  the  Arctic  sky,  azid,  from  his  horrid  hair," 

was  supposed  to  shake  '^  pestilence  and  war !  "  As, 
therefore,  he  who  cannot  see  beyond  the  stars  as  they 
apppear  to  the  sense,  must  lose  by  far  the  highest  pleas- 
ure which  they  are  adapted  as  objects  of  taste  to  give  ; 
so  he  who  knows  the  physical  structure  of  the  universe, 
and  who  yet  does  not  see  in  it,  and  behind  it,  an  infinite 
and  beneficent  Intelligence,  cannot  have  connected  with 
his  view  those  conceptions  which  awaken  the  highest 
emotions  of  beauty  and  sublimity. 

The  relations  of  man  to  nature  are  much  less  intimate 
than  those  of  God,  and  yet  our  emotions  in  view  of 
nature  are  greatly  modified  by  the  view  which  we  take  of 
His  dignity  and  moral  character.  It  was  when  Hamlet 
supposed  there  was  foul  corruption  and  a  general  want  of 
principle  in  society,  that  ''  this  goodly  frame,  the  earth," 
seemed  to  him  but  "  a  sterile  promontory  ;  "  "  this  most 
excellent  canopy,  the  air,  look  you,  this  brave  o'erhang- 


113 

ing  firmament,"  why,  it  appeared  no  other  thing  to  him 
^' than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congregation  of  vapors."  It 
was  when  lier  inhabitants  were  oppressed  and  degraded, 
that  the  natural  beauty,  which  is  still  as  bright  as  ever 
on  the  shores  of  Greece,  seemed  in  the  eye  of  the  poet 
but  as 

"  the  loveliness  in  death 
That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath, 
But  beauty  with  that  fearful  bloom, 
That  hue  which  haunts  it  to  the  tomb, 
So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 
We  start,  for  life  is  wanting  there." 
^  **  'T  was  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more." 

We  must  all  have  felt  that  a  shade  of  sadness  was  cast 
over  the  face  of  nature  when  Ave  have  thought  of  the 
passions,  and  wars,  and  lust,  and  rapine  of  man,  in  con- 
nection with  her  quiet  scenes.  On  the  other  hand,  were 
the  moral  state  of  the  world  what  we  trust  it  shall  one 
day  be, — did  universal  purity,  and  goodness,  and  love 
reign, — would  not  the  sun  seem  to  shine  with  a  more 
benignant  radiance  ;  instead  of  the  thorn,  would  there 
not  come  up  the  fir  tree  ;  would  not  the  mountains  and 
hills  break  forth  into  singing,  and  all  the  trees  of  the  field 
clap  their  hands  ? 

And  if  the  emotions  of  taste  are  thus  modified  by  our 
views  of  man,  how  much  more  must  they  be  by  those 
respecting  God  !  How  must  a  blank  atheism  hang  the 
heavens  in  sackcloth,  and  cover  the  earth  with  a  pall,  and 
turn  the  mute  promisings  of  nature  into  a  mockery,  and 
make  of  her  mighty  fabric  one  great  charnel-house  of 
death  without  the  hope  of  a  resurrection  !  On  the  other 
hand,  how  must  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  nature  and 
of  the  universe  be  heightened,  the  moment  we  perceive 
them  in  their  connection  with  God  !  Nothing  is  more 
common  than  to  hear  those,  who  emerge  from  that  prac- 
tical atheism  in  which  most  men  live,  speak  of  the  new 
15 


114 

perceptions   of  beauty   and   sublimity  with  which  they 
look  upon  the  works  of  nature  : — 

"  In  that  blest  moraent,  Nature,  throwing  wide 
Her  veil  opaque,  discloses,  with  a  smile. 
The  Author  of  her  beauties,  who,  retired 
Behind  his  own  creation,  works  unseen 
By  the  impure,  and  hears  his  power  denied." 

All  our  investigations  into  nature  show  that  man  has 
no  faculties  to  which  there  are  not  corresponding  and  ad- 
equate objects.  As  infinite  as  he  is  in  reason,  yet  the 
works  of  God  are  not  exhausted  by  the  operations  of  that 
reason :  no  intellectual  Alexander  ever  sat  down  Sid 
wept  for  the  want  of  more  worlds  to  conquer.  As  vast 
as  is  his  imagination,  the  revelations  of  astronomy,  as 
sober  facts,  go  beyond  any  thing  that  the  imagination  had 
conceived.  And  is  it  so,  that,  in  the  region  of  taste  alone, 
the  faculties  of  man  have  no  adequate  object?  But  it  is 
only  when  nature,  like  the  Bible,  is  seen  to  be  full  of 
God,  that  she  is  clothed  with  her  true  sublimity.  It  is 
only  when  ''  the  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and 
the  firmament  showeth  his  handy  work,"  that  they  cor- 
respond to  the  highest  conceptions  either  of  the  taste  or 
of  the  intellect.  Man  rests  in  the  Infinite  alone,  and  the 
universe  without  a  God  is  not  in  harmony  with  his  con- 
stitution, even  when  he  is  considered  as  endowed  with 
taste  only.  But  if  our  views  on  moral  subjects  thus 
modify  the  emotions  of  taste,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that 
those  emotions  react  upon  our  moral  views,  tending  to 
elevate  and  purify  them. 

I  remark  again,  that  the  emotions  of  taste  are  favorable 
to  morals,  because  they  are  disinterested.  As  admiration 
becomes  intense,  men  forget  themselves,  and,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  thus  find  enjoyment,  they  are  prepared  for 
that  higher  enjoyment  which  a  disinterested  performance 
of  duty  brings  with  it.  Wlienevcr  we  see  excellence  in 
another,  we  are   bound   to  admire  it  without  reference  to 


115 

sect  or  party  ;  and  admiration,  thus  bestowed,  is  almost 
always  connected  with  a  high  moral  character.  The 
beauty  who  can  truly  forget  herself  in  her  admiration  for 
another,  deserves  admiration  for  qualities  far  higher  and 
nobler  than  beauty. 

I  only  observe  further,  that  a  cultivated  taste  is  favor- 
able to  morals,  because  the  cultivation  of  one  of  our 
powers  has  a  tendency  to  strengthen  the  rest.  This, 
I  know,  is  disputed,  and  it  is  even  supposed  that  the 
union  of  certain  powers  in  any  high  degt-ee  is  impossible. 
Thus,  it  is  often  supposed  that  a  remarkable  memory  and 
a  sound  judgment  do  not  go  together  ;  and  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  memory  may  be  so  cultivated  as  not  to 
strengthen  the  judgment.  But  when  I  speak  of  cultivating 
a  faculty,  I  mean  cultivating  it  on  correct  principles  and 
with  reference  to  the  end  for  which  it  was  given.  Those 
who  remember  events  as  isolated,  or  only  as  they  are  con- 
nected by  the  relations  of  tifne  and  place,  and  who  do  not 
see  and  remember  them  as  connected  by  the  relations  of 
cause  and  effect,  means  and  end,  premises  and  conclusion, 
do  not,  by  such  an  exercise  of  the  memory,  strengthen 
the  judgment,  though  they  certainly  show  that  it  has 
great  need  of  being  strengthened.  Of  what  possible  use 
can  it  be,  to  the  forming  of  a  correct  judgment  on  any 
point,  for  a  good  woman  to  remember  the  precise  age  of 
every  child  in  the  neighborhood  ?  It  is  these  walking 
chronicles,  these  living  almanacs,  who  will  tell  you  the 
weather  for  all  time  past,  if  not  for  all  time  to  come,  who 
get  the  credit  of  having  great  memories  and  little  judg- 
ment. But  such  a  memory  is,  to  one  cultivated  on  cor- 
rect principles,  only  what  a  room  full  of  minerals  and 
birds  and  fishes  and  insects  and  rubbish,  is  to  a  well- 
arranged  museum.  Who  does  not  know  that  experience 
is  the  best  enlightener  of  the  judgment?  And  where 
does  experience  garner  her  stores  but  in  the  memory?  It 
is  obvious  that  he  who   has  the   best  memory  of  past 


116 

events  in  their  true  connections,  will  have  the  best  possi- 
ble materials  for  forming  a  judgment  of  the  future.  The 
same  opposition  is  generally  supposed  to  exist  between 
the  imagination  and  the  judgment.  But  it  occasionally 
happens  that  an  individual,  like  Edmund  Burke,  unites 
the  most  gorgeous  imagination  with  the  profoundest  judg- 
ment ;  and  then  it  is  seen  that  the  analogies  which  the 
imagination  suggests  yield  important  lights  to  the  judg- 
ment instead  of  misleading  it.  I  know  that  the  imagina- 
tion, striking  it^  roots  into  the  hot-bed  of  novel-reading, 
may  over-top  the  judgment ;  but,  judiciously  cultivated,  I 
contend  that  it  is  not  unfavorable  to  the  judgment.  And 
if  in  these  cases  a  judicious  cultivation  of  one  power  tends 
to  strengthen  the  other,  much  more  will  the  cultivation  of 
taste  have  a  favorable  tendency  upon  the  moral  nature, 
since  these  departments  of  the  mind  have  never  been  sup- 
posed to  be  in  opposition,  but  are,  as  we  have  seen,  closely 
allied  to  each  other. 

But  all  this  time  it  has  probably  been  objected  that, 
however  plausible  the  reasoning  may  be  on  this  subject, 
it  is  yet  contrary  to  experience.  If  it  were  so,  it  might 
perhaps  be  said  of  it,  as  was  said  by  Euler  of  a  demon- 
strated property  of  the  arch,  ''  This  is  contrary  to  all  expe- 
rience, but  is  nevertheless  true  :  " — it  is  so  in  the  nature 
of  things,  but  the  materials  are  refractory.  But  let  us  see 
how  far  it  is  contrary  to  experience  ;  or  rather,  whether 
we  cannot,  so  far  as  it  is  thus  contrary,  satisfactorily 
account  for  it. 

In  order  to  this,  we  must  make,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
three  important  distinctions.  And,  first,  we  must  distin- 
guish between  taste  considered  as  a  power  of  judging,  and 
as  a  susceptibility  to  emotion.  This  distinction  is  often 
overlooked.  Mr.  Blair,  for  instance,  defines  taste  to  be, 
*'  the  power  of  receiving  pleasure  or  pain  from  the  beau- 
ties or  deformities  of  nature  and  of  art ;  "  in  which,  regard 
is  had  to  the  susceptibility  only.     But  afterwards,  when 


117 

contrasting  taste  with  genius,  he  says,  ''  Taste  is  the  power 
of  judging,  genius  is  the  power  of  executing  ;  "  in  which 
the  susceptibility  to  emotion  is  left  out  of  sight.  Can  I 
make  this  distinction  obvious  ?  When  an  unpractised 
person  sees  for  the  first  time  a  grand  historical  picture,  or 
reads  a  beautiful  poem,  he  gives  himself  up  to  the  emo- 
tion ;  he  is  absorbed ;  he  takes  no  note  of  time  ;  he  for- 
gets where  he  is,  and  neither  knows  nor  cares  why  he  is 
pleased.  The  eye  drinks  in  beauty  as  the  thirsty  man 
the  cold  water,  and  it  refreshes  the  soul.  He  sees  the 
picture,  or  reads  the  poem  again  and  again,  and  at  length 
sits  down  to  give  an  account  to  a  friend  of  that  which  had 
pleased  him.  Now,  he  wishes  to  state  the  reasons  why 
he  was  pleased,  and  he  begins  to  inquire  what  those  qual- 
ities were  which  produced  the  effect.  Here  is  the  rudi- 
ment of  philosophical  criticism,  and  he  goes  on  perhaps 
investigating,  till  he  discovers  those  general  principles  of 
taste  according  to  which  the  work  was  executed.  As 
long,  however,  as  his  mind  is  thus  occupied  in  analyzing, 
he  feels  no  emotion  of  beauty  or  sublimity.  But  as  this 
is  an  enticing  species  of  logic,  he  may  follow  it  till  a  work 
of  art  shall  give  him  pleasure  only  by  its  conformity  to 
certain  principles,  true  or  false,  which  he  may  have 
established  for  himself,  and  till  he  becomes  a  cold  critic, 
or  perhaps  a  reviewer  by  trade.  He  may  become  a  mere 
teller  in  the  bank  of  taste,  to  pronounce  on  what  is  genu- 
ine, and  hand  it  over  to  others  to  be  used  and  enjoyed. 
Now,  a  man  who  writes  a  skilful  review  of  a  work  of 
genius,  and  tells  us  why  we  are  or  ought  to  be  pleased,  is 
supposed  to  be  a  man  of  taste  ;  and  the  writing  of  the 
review  is  considered  as  an  exercise  of  taste.  This  is  true 
of  taste  considered  as  a  power  of  judging,  but  not  as  a 
power  of  feeling.  If  it  were  so,  the  mass  of  men  would 
be  in  a  pitiable  condition.  God  no  more  intended  that 
the  uninitiated  should  wait  to  be  pleased  with  the  -beauty 
which  they  see,  until  its  principles  are  analyzed,  and  they 


118 

are  told  when  and  why  they  ought  to  be  pleased,  than  he 
intended  they  should  wait  to  be  cheered  and  warmed  by 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  till  they  should  see  light  decomposed 
into  the  seven  colors  of  the  prismatic  image.  But  it  is  by 
cherishing  and  keeping  alive  these  universal  emotions, 
which  belong  to  the  race,  and  which  find  excitement 
every  where,  that  I  suppose  there  is  a  healthful  etfect 
produced  on  the  moral  character.  The  power  of  genuine 
philosophical  criticism, — the  power  of  going  back,  if  I 
may  so  express  it,  into  the  workshop  of  nature,  and  seeing 
how  she  mixes  her  colors, — is  a  rare,  a  valuable  and  a 
dignified  power ;  but  it  is  still  an  exercise  of  the  intellect, 
and  I  am  not  aware  that  it  has  any  peculiarly  favorable 
effect  upon  the  moral  character.  Indeed,  when  literature 
and  the  fine  arts  become  fashionable,  and  much  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  this  kind  of 
criticism,  which  is  fallen  into  from  imitation  and  vanity, 
and  which  can  have  no  good  effect  upon  morals  except  as 
it  supplies  the  place  of  scandal.  It  is  not,  then,  in  an 
egotistical  and  vain  community,  who  read  works  of 
genius,  and  look  at  pictures,  not  to  admire  and  enjoy 
them,  but  that  they  may  themselves  talk  about  them  and 
be  admired,  that  any  good  effect  upon  the  moral  character 
is  to  be  expected  from  the  prevalence  of  what  they  are 
pleased  to  call  taste.  How  far  this  comes  to  be  the  case 
with  communities  in  which  taste  is  said  to  be  prevalent, 
and  morals  are  corrupt,  I  leave  others  to  judge. 

The  second  distinction  which  I  would  make,  is  that 
between  the  cultivation  of  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts  and  for 
natural  objects.  This  I  consider  a  distinction  of  much 
importance  on  this  subject  ;  and  I  propose  to  give  some 
reasons  why  the  cultivation  of  the  fine  arts — as  painting, 
sculpture,  architecture,  poetry — has  less  tendency  than  a 
taste  for  natural  objects  to  improve  the  character.  This 
I  am  bound  to  do ;  because  it  is  well  known  that  certain 
nations,  as  the  Spartans  and  ancient  Romans,  considered 


119 

a  taste  for  the  fine  arts  as  having  a  tendency  to  corrupt 
morals  ;  and  some  of  the  sterner  moralists  of  modern 
times,  especially  religious  moralists,  have  objected  to  it 
on  the  same  ground.  It  must  also  be  conceded  that  those 
nations,  as  the  Greeks  and  Italians,  among  whom  these 
arts  have  flourished  most,  have  been  exceedingly  corrupt, 
and  that  that  corruption  has  co-existed  with  an  advanced 
state  of  the  arts  in  question. 

And,  first,  I  remark,  that  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts  cannot 
be  general  in  a  community  of  any  considerable  extent. 
If  we  suppose  such  a  taste,  when  formed,  to  have  a  ten- 
dency to  improve  the  morals,  yet  how  few,  in  a  country 
like  ours,  have  an  opportunity  to  form  it !  The  products 
of  the  arts  are  to  be  found,  for  the  most  part,  only  in 
cities  ;  and  of  the  inhabitants  of  cities,  it  is  only  those 
who  have  leisure  and  wealth,  who  are  aff"ected  by  them. 
It  ought  also  to  be  observed  that,  as  these  arts  do  not 
come  to  perfection  in  the  early  stages  of  society,  they 
cannot  produce  their  eff'ect  till  wealth  and  luxury  have 
had  time  to  work  general  corruption. 

But  I  observe  again,  that,  as  the  powder  either  of 
executing  or  of  judging  in  these  arts  is  confined  to  com- 
paratively a  few,  it  becomes  a*  mark  of  distinction  and  a 
ground  of  ostentation,  and  thus  there  comes  to  be  the 
appearance  of  more  taste  than  there  really  is.  The  artist 
finds  himself  a  candidate  for  fame  and  wealth  through 
his  skill,  and  hence  his  passions  are  aroused  and  his 
interests  are  involved.  If  successful,  he  is  flattered,  per- 
haps almost  deified ;  if  unsuccessful,  he  becomes  irritable 
and  sinks  back  on  the  proud  consciousness  of  neglected 
merit.  This  peculiar  position  will  account  for  the  bad 
character  of  many  artists.  Those  also  who  patronize 
the  arts,  as  it  is  significantly  termed,  often  do  it  from 
ostentation.  What  better  resource  has  an  ordinary  person 
who  has  money,  and  who  wishes  to  be  distinguished  in 
the  fashionable  world,  than  to  become  a  patron  of  the 


120 

fine  arts  ?  I  knew  a  person  who  spent  several  thousand 
dollars  for  pictures,  and  who,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
knew  and  cared  nothing  about  them  except  as  they 
atfected  her  standing  in  the  fashionable  world.  But  of 
those  who  have  a  good  degree  of  taste,  there  are  few 
whose  motives  are  not  mixed.  And  then  it  is  to  be 
remembered,  that  a  product  of  art  may  be  viewed  in 
many  different  aspects.  It  may  be  regarded  as  costing  so 
much,  as  requiring  such  a  frame,  or  to  be  placed  in  such 
a  light,  or  as  an  ornamental  piece  of  furniture ;  while 
there  is  but  a  single  point  of  view  in  which  it  can  be 
regarded  as  gratifying  taste.  The  moment  a  picture 
comes  to  be  considered  as  an  ornament,  or  an  article  of 
furniture,  you  might  as  well  have  a  looking-glass  or  a 
pier-table.  It  not  unfrequently  happens,  that  the  owner 
of  fine  pictures  thinks  so  much  of  them  as  ornamental  or 
valuable,  so  much  of  their  framing,  or  light,  or  preser- 
vation, that  he  becomes  indifferent  to  them  in  the  only 
point  of  view  in  which  they  are  truly  valuable. 

But  again,  in  order  to  see  this  point  in  its  true  light  we 
must  consider  the  peculiar  rank  which  is  held  by  the 
pleasures  connected  with  the  fine  arts.  These  pleasures 
are  addressed  to  the  eye  and  to  the  ear,  and  hold  a  middle 
rank  between  the  lower  pleasures  of  sense  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  higher  enjoyments  of  the  intellect  and  of 
the  affections  on  the  other  ;  and  may  readily  associate 
with,  and  promote  either.  This  point  is  well  stated  by 
Lord  Karnes.  It  is  observed  by  him,  that  "  in  touching, 
tasting,  and  smelling,  we  are  sensible  of  the  impression 
made  upon  the  organ,  and  are  led  to  place  there  the  pleas- 
ant or  painful  feeling  caused  by  that  impression  ;  "  but 
that  with  respect  to  hearing  and  seeing,  ''  we  are  insensi- 
ble to  the  organic  impression,  and  hence  conceive  the 
pleasures  derived  from  these  senses  to  be  more  refined  and 
spiritual  than  those  which  seem  to  exist  externally  at  the 
organ  of  sense,  and  which  are  conceived  to  be  merely  cor- 


121 

poreal.  These  pleasures,"  says  he,  ^'  being  sweet  and 
moderately  exhilarating,  are,  in  their  tone,  equally  distant 
from  the  turbulence  ot"  passion  and  the  languor  of  indo- 
lence, and  by  that  tone  are  perfectly  well  qualified  not 
only  to  revive  the  spirits  when  sunk  by  scnsuid  gratifi- 
cation, but  also  to  relax  them  when  overstrained  in  any 
violent  pursuit."  "  Organic  pleasures,"  he  observes 
again,  "  have  naturally  a  short  duration ;  when  prolong- 
ed, they  lose  their  relish  ;  when  indulged  to  excess,  the}'' 
beget  satiety  and  disgust  ;  and  to  restore  a  pro};er  tone  of 
mind,  nothing  can  be  more  happily  contrived  than  the 
exhilarating,  pleasures  of  the  eye  and  ear."  Now  tliis  is 
precisely  the  use,  and  all  the  use,  that  many  make  of  the 
fine  arts,  and  I  may  add,  to  some  extent,  of  the  beauties  of 
nature  too.  How  many  wealthy  sensualists  are  there  in 
our  cities,  who  give  an  appearance  of  elevation  and  refine- 
ment to  their  low  and  selfish  mode  of  life,  by  collecting 
about  them  specimens  of  the  arts  !  These  men  may  be 
best  compared  to  that  amphibious  animal,  the  frog. 
They  come  up  occasionally  from  that  lower  element  in 
which  they  live,  into  a  region  of  light  and  beauty,  but 
no  sooner  are  they  a  little  refreshed  than  they  plunge 
again  into  the  mud  of  sensual  gratification.  It  is  men 
like  these,  who,  when  their  capacity  for  the  lower 
pleasures  is  exhausted,  drive  in  their  carriages  about  the 
cities  of  the  old  world,  (perhaps  we  are  not  yet  sufficient- 
ly corrupt,)  and  set  up  to  be  virtuosi.  It  is  easy  to  see 
how  such  a  taste  must  bear  upon  morals. 

But  I  remark  once  more,  that  the  fine  arts  may  be 
made  to  pander  directly  to  vice.  From  the  middle  rank 
which  the  pleasures  derived  from  them  hold,  they  readily 
associate,  as  has  been  said,  both  with  the  higher  and  the 
lower.  Thus,  music  may  quicken  the  devotions  of  a 
seraph,  and  lend  its  strains  to  cheer  the  carousals  of  the 
bacchanal  ;  and  poetry,  painting  and  sculpture,  while 
they  have  power  to  elevate,  and  charm,  and  purify  the 
16 


122 

mind,  may  be  made  direct  stimulants  to  the  vilest  and 
lowest  passions.  It  is  indeed  from  this  quarter  that  we 
_are  to  look  for  danger  from  the  prevalence  of  these  arts. 
It  was  thus  that  they  corrupted  the  ancient  cities  ;  and 
Ihose  who  have  seen  the  abominable  statuary  dug  from 
the  ruins  of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  do  not  wonder 
that  they  were  buridti  under  a  sea  of  fire.  The  same 
process  of  corruption  through  these  arts  has  gone  to  a 
fearful  extent  on  the  eastern  continent,  and  has  com- 
menced in  this  country.  Clothed  in  this  garment  of 
light,  vice  finds  access  where  it  otherwise  could  not. 
Under  the  pretence  of  promoting  the  fine  arts,  modesty  is 
cast  aside,  and  indecent  pictures  are  exhibited,  and 
respectable  people  go  to  see  them.  If  I  might  utter  a 
word  of  warning  to  the  young,  it  would  be  to  beware  of 
vice  dressed  in  the  garments  of  taste.  The  beauties  of 
nature  are  capable  of  no  such  perversion.  All  the  asso- 
ciations connected  with  them  tend  to  elevate  and  to 
purify  the  mind.  No  case  can  be  adduced  in  which  a 
taste  for  gardening  or  for  natural  objects  has  corrupted  a 
people.  While,  therefore,  I  believe,  that  the  cultivation 
of  the  arts,  in  their  genuine  spirit  of  beauty  and  of  purity, 
has  a  tend..ncy  to  improve  the  character,  it  would  appear 
that  they  are  greatly  liable  to  abuse,  and  that  they  have 
been  extensively  abused. 

But  though  I  may  thus  dispose  of  the  general  objection 
from  the  co-existence,  in  many  cases,  of  refinement  in  the 
arts  and  corrupt  morals,  yet  this,  I  think,  will  not  fully 
meet  the  objection  which  first  arose  in  the  minds  of  some, 
from  those  numerous  individual  instances  in  which  men 
have  been  eminent  for  taste  and  genius,  and  at  the  same 
time  corrupt.  What,  you  have  been  ready  to  say,  do  you 
make  of  such  a  case  as  that  of  Byron  ?  Now  I  would 
here  make  an  inquiry,  how  far,  and  in  what  sense,  those 
productions  of  genius  which  have  a  corrupt  tendency,  are 
really  consistent  with  good  taste.     Take  the  Don  Juan  of 


^  123 

Byron  for  instance.  To  say  nothing  of  principle,  such  a 
work  certainly  is  not  compatible  with  a  correct  taste. 
That  it  is  in  some  sense  a  work  of  taste,  cannot  be  de- 
nied;  bat" it  seems  to  me  to  be  only  as  a  splendid  palace, 
built  in  a  low  and  fetid  morass,  is  a  work  of  taste.  The 
palace  may  be  beautiful,  but  it  was  in  bad  taste  to  set  it 
there.  Particular  rooms  may  be  elegantly  furnished,  but 
still  there  comes  up  from  the  surrounding  marsh  a  pesti- 
lential miasm,  and  it  may  be  said  of  it,  as  was  said  of  the 
atmosphere  around  New  Orleans  a  few  autumns  since,  that 
'^all  is  beauty  and  all  is  death."  So  far  therefore  as  these 
works  have  a  corrupt  tendency,  they  cannot  be  said  to  be 
in  the  highest  sense  consistent  with  good  taste.  But  still 
it  is  said  that  corrupt  men  have  produced  works  of  the 
highest  genius  and  of  the  best  taste,  that  have  had  no 
such  tendency.  This  is  granted  ;  but  it  is  to  be  accounted 
for  from  the  fact  that  men  of  genius  are  often  men  of 
strong  passions  and  of  wayward  and  unbalanced  minds, 
and  from  the  peculiar  temptations  in  which,  as  I  have 
already  said,  they  are  placed.  Taste  seems  to  me  to  be, 
to  such  men,  what  the  music  of  David  was  to  Saul, — it 
charms  away  the  evil  spirit,  but  it  is  only  for  a  time. 

But  we  now  pass  to  the  third  distinction  which  was  to 
be  made,  and  that  is,  between  a  true  taste  for  naturcd  ob- 
jects and  the  fine  arts,  and  what  is  called  taste  in  the  world 
of  fashion.  The  point  of  distinction  to  which  I  would 
draw  your  attention  is  well  stated  by  Stewart.  ''It  is 
obvious,"  says  he,  ''  that  the  circumstances  which  please 
in  the  objects  of  taste  are  of  two  kinds  :  first,  those 
which  are  fitted  to  please  by  nature,  or  by  associations 
which  all  mankind  are  led  to  form  by  their  common  con- 
dition ;  and  secondly,  those  which  please  in  consequence 
of  associations  arising  from  local  and  accidental  circum- 
stances. Hence  there  are  two  kinds  of  taste  ;  the  one, 
enabling  us  to  judge  of  those  beauties  which  have  a  foun- 
dation in  the  human  constitution  ;  the  other,  of  such  ob- 


124 

jects  as  derive  their  principal  recommendation  from  the 
influence  of  fashion.  Tiiese  two  kinds  of  taste  are  not 
always  anited  in  the  same  person  ;  indeed,  I  am  inchned 
to  think  that  they  are  united  but  rarely.  The  perfection 
of  the  one  depends  much  upon  the  degree  in  which  we 
are  able  to  free  the  mind  from  the  influence  of  casual 
associations ;  that  of  the  other,  on  the  contrary,  depends 
on  a  facihty  of  association  which  enables  us  to  fall  in,  at 
once,  with  all  the  turns  of  the  fashion,  and,  as  Shakspeare 
expresses  it,  to  'catch  the  tune  of  the  times.'"  Asso- 
ciation is  the  sole  foundation  of  the  value  which  we  put 
upon  some  articles,  and  of  the  beauty  which  we  find  in 
others.  Thus,  a  lock  of  hair,  valueless  in  itself,  may, 
from  associations  connected  with  it,  have  a  value  which 
money  cannot  measure ;  and  articles  of  dress,  which 
would  otherwise  be  to  us  indiff'erent,  or  odious,  become 
beautiful  by  their  association  with  those  persons  whom 
we  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  as  models  of 
elegance.  It  is  indeed  astonishing  what  an  eff'ect  this 
principle  will  have  upon  our  feelings ;  and  from  look- 
ing too  exclusively  at  facts  connected  with  it,  some 
have  been  led  to  doubt  whether  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  a  permanent  principle  of  taste.  It  would  really  seem, 
that,  within  the  bounds  of  comfort  and  decency,  both  of 
•which  are  often  outraged  by  fashion,  one  mode  of  dress 
may  come  to  be  as  becoming  as  another.  The  wigs,  the 
knee-buckles,  the  small-clothes,  the  long-skirts  and  cocked- 
hats  of  our  grandfathers,  were  as  becoming  then,  as  is 
now  the  dress  of  the  present  day.  Says  Sir  Joshua  Rey- 
nolds, "If  an  European,  when  he  has  cut  otf  his  beard, 
and  put  false  hair  on  his  head,  or  bound  up  his  own 
natural  hair  in  regular  hard  knots,  as  unlike  nature  as  he 
can  possibly  make  it,  and  after  having  rendered  them 
immovable  by  the  help  of  the  fat  of  hogs,  has  covered 
the  whole  with  flour,  laid  on  by  a  machine  with  the 
utmost  regularity  ;  if,  when   thus  attired,  he  issues  forth 


125 

and  meets  a  Cherokee  Indian,  who  has  bestowed  as  much 
time  at  his  toilet,  and  laid  on,  with  equal  care  and  atten- 
tion, liis  yellow  and  red  ochre  on  particular  parts  of  his 
forehead  or  cheeks,  as  he  judges  most  becoming ;  whoever 
of  these  two  despises  the  other  for  his  attention  to  the 
fashion  of  his  country  ;  whichever  feels  himself  provoked 
to  laugh,  is  the  barbarian."  Good  taste  with  respect  to 
the  fashions,  then,  would  seem  to  consist,  not  in  following 
them,  or  in  paying  them  attention,  except  so  far  as  to 
avoid  attracting  notice  in  any  way  by  dress ;  for  it  is  a 
strong  indication,  when  a  person  seeks  notice  from  that, 
that  there  is  about  him  little  else  that  is  worthy  of  notice. 
The  foundation  of  taste  in  the  fashions,  however,  being 
what  I  have  now  stated,  it  is  obvious  that  a  quick  percep- 
tion of  their  ever-varying  changes  and  a  ready  and  careful 
accommodation  to  them,  can  belong,  whether  in  man  or 
woman,  only  to  a  mind  essentially  frivolous ;  and  that 
such  a  taste,  if  not  absolutely  incompatible  with  a  per- 
ception of  all  that  is  permanently  grand  and  beautiful  in 
the  works  of  God,  is  yet  seldom  connected  with  it.  Such 
a  taste  must,  of  course,  richer  injure  than  promote  good 
morals. 

I  have  now  considered  taste  as  exercised  indifferently 
upon  any  objects  within  its  appropriate  province.  It  still 
remains  that  I  should  say  something,  which  I  propose  to 
do  in  another  Lecture,  on  Moral  Taste,  or  an  taste  having 
moral  actions  for  its  object. 


126 


THE  CONNECTION  BETWEEN  TASTE  AND  MORALS. 


LECTURE   II. 

It  was  observed,  on  a  former  occasion,  that  material 
objects  produce  their  effect  upon  taste  chiefly  as  signs  ; 
but  it  is  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Alison,  of  Mr.  Jeffries,  and 
others  of  high  authority  on  this  point,  that  it  is  solely  as 
signs  —  solely  as  suggesting  intellectual  and  moral  quali- 
ties —  that  they  have  an  effect.  It  is  quite  evident  that 
mere  matter  in  a  chaotic  state,  or  in  any  state  which  is  not 
either  produced  by  mind  or  such  as  mind  would  produce, 
cannot  be  beautiful ;  and  hence  it  is  said  that  it  can  be 
beautiful  only  as  a  means  of  indicating  qualities  that  do 
not  belong  to  itself.  ♦ 

The  great  difficulty  which  this  theory  has  to  encoun- 
ter is  the  apparent  instantaneousness  with  which  the 
emotion  seems  to  arise  when  a  beautiful  object  is  pre- 
sented. But  this  is  not  a  conclusive  objection,  because 
emotions  which  can  arise  only  from  association  seem  to 
come  in  the  ^'same  way.  How  instantaneous,  for  in- 
stance, are  the  emotions  that  tlu'ong  up  when  he  who  has 
been  long  on  a  foreign  shore  sees,  for  the  first  time,  the 
stars  and  stripes  of  his  country's  flag  as  it  enters  the  port 
where  he  is ; — and  yet,  these  emotions  can  be  awakened 
by  it  only  as  a  link  of  association  with  scenes  that  are 
past,  or  as  a  sign  of  his  country's  presence  and  protection. 
I  have  heard  the  rainbow  adduced  as  an  instance  of  an 
object  which  produces  the  emotion  of  beauty  without  a 
reference  to  any  thing  beyond  itself     But  what  was  the 


127 

impression  made  by  it  more  than  two  thousand  years  ago, 
upon  the  mind  of  one  who  had  no  theory  to  maintain  ? — 
"Look  upon  the  rainbow,"  says  he,  "and  praise  Him 
that  made  it :  very  beautiful  it  is  in  the  brightness  thereof. 
It  compasseth  the  heavens  about  with  a  glorious  circle, 
and  the  hands  of  the  Most  High  have  bended  iV  How 
apparently  instantaneous,  yet  how  different,  are  our  emo- 
tions when  looking  at  the  cheek  flushed  by  the  bloom 
of  health,  or  suffused  by  the  blush  of  shame,  or  reddened 
by  anger,  or  wearing  that  hectic  flush  which  is  the  flag 
of  distress  held  out  by  nature  when  she  is  sinking  in  con- 
sumption ! — And  yet  no  one  can  doubt,  if  these  indica- 
tions were  reversed,  that  the  emotions  would  be  reversed 
also.  It  is  conceded  by  all,  that  it  is  the  expression,  the 
indication  of  mental  and  moral  qualities,  that  gives  its 
highest  beauty  to  the  human  countenance.  There  are  no 
features  which  may  not  be  so  lighted  up  with  noble  or 
tender  emotion  as  to  be  beautiful.  But  is  there,  it  will  be 
asked,  no  beauty  in  any  combination  of  features,  or  of 
matter,  except  as  connected  with  expression  ?  I  am  in- 
clined to  thuik  there  is  what  may  be  called  an  instinctive 
beauty  on  the  perception  of  certain  colors  and  forms  ;  but 
it  is  of  little  value  compared  with  that  of  which  a  rational 
and  reflective  being  can  give  an  account  to  himself.  Even 
this,  however,  presupposes  the  action  of  mind  upon  mat- 
ter, though  that  action  is  not  recognized  by  us  as  the 
cause  of  our  emotion.  It  is  therefore  still  true  that,  as  the 
beauty  of  the  early  morning  is  produced  solely  by  a  re- 
flection from  the  sun  while  he  is  still  below  the  horizon, 
so  the  beauty  of  matter  is  wholly  a  reflection  from  that 
great  central  orb  of  mind,  which  has  never  yet  beamed 
upon  the  eye  of  man  in  its  direct  effulgence— that,  to  him 
who  views  it  aright,  the  beauty  of  this  world  is  but  the 
morning  twilight  of  heaven. 

But,   however   this  question  may  be   decided,  the  fact 
that  it  can  be  made  a  question  at  all,  shows  how  largely 


128 

moral  ideas  and  emotions  enter  into  the  province  of  taste, 
and  the  intimate  connection  there  is  between  taste  and 
morals.  What  is  called  moral  taste,  is,  in  fact,  discrimi- 
nated from  taste  hi  general,  only  as  it  has  the  moral  actions 
of  free  and  intelligent  agents  for  its  object.  When  we 
look  at  a  moral  action,  there  is  a  plain  difference  between 
onr  perception  of  it  as  right,  and  our  perception  of  it  as 
beautiful.  In  one  case  there  arises  the  feeling  of  appro- 
bation, in  the  other  of  admiration,  which  are  entirely  dis- 
tinct, and  may  exist  in  very  different  proportions. 

It  is,  indeed,  not  always  easy  to  distinguish  the  point 
at  which  approbation  and  admiration  run  into  each  other ; 
and,  in  treating  of  this  subject,  I  shall  first  say  a  few 
words  of  that  border-ground  between  taste  and  morals 
where  the  dividing  line  seems  to  be  unsettled.  Where, 
for  example,  shall  we  place  that  feeling  which  we  have  in 
view  of  the  manner  of  doing  a  thing,  in  distinction  from 
the  thing  done  ?  Is  that  feeling  merely  the  result  of  taste, 
or  are  there  mingled  with  it  some  elements  of  moral  ap- 
probation or  disapprobation  ?  Where  will  you  place  a 
mean  action  in  distinction  from  a  dishonest  one  ?  I  have 
heard  it  disputed  whether  neatness  is  a  virtue,  a  matter  of 
moral  obligation,  or  merely  a  requisition  of  taste.  Is  a 
man  under  moral  obligation  to  be  neat  in  his  person  ?  It 
is  along  this  dividing  line  that  all  those  actions  lie  which 
relate  to  the  proprieties  and  courtesies  of  life — all  those 
smaller  attentions  to  the  convenience  and  comfort  of 
others,  and  that  delicate  regard  to  their  feelings,  which 
have  been  designated  by  the  French  as  the  smaller 
morals. 

In  regard  to  this  very  extensive,  and  therefore  impor- 
tant department  of  human  conduct,  there  seem  to  be  two 
common  mistakes.  The  first  consists  in  disregarding  it 
altogether.  There  are  many  men  whose  characters,  in 
their  sketching  and  outline,  are  fine,  and  which,  seen  at  a 
distance,  appear  well ;    but   on  approaching  them,  they 


129 

seem  coarse  and  very  imperfect.  In  all  the  great  duties 
of  life  they  appear  to  advantage  ;  but  through  negligence, 
or  some  greater  failing,  the  minor  duties,  and  especially 
the  department  of  manners,  is  entirely  neglected.  They 
seem  like  stately  trees,  in  the  trunk  and  main  branches  of 
which  the  sap  circulates  vigorously,  but  does  not  reach 
and  animate  the  smaller  twigs,  and  give  to  the  leaves 
their  perfect  green. 

A  second  and  more  common  mistake,  is  the  giving  up 
of  this  department  to  the  control  of  taste  under  the  guid- 
ance of  selfishness.  The  manners  are  polished,  and  all 
the  forms  of  politeness  adopted,  not  for  the  purpose  of 
making  others  happy,  but  of  securing  to  ourselves  their 
esteem,  and  of  effecting  our  own  ends  in  life.  This  is  the 
school  of  manners  recommended  by  Chesterfield,  and 
young  persons  are  often  exhorted  to  pay  attention  to  their 
manners  on  this  ground.  In  this  case  the  sap  does  not 
circulate  at  all,  and  the  leaves  are  painted. 

But  to  me  it  seems,  that  this  whole  class  of  actions  falls 
within  the  province  of  morality.  Wherever  human  hap- 
piness is  concerned,  there  is  room  for  principle  to  operate  ; 
and  the  constitution  of  society  will  never  be  sound,  and 
its  beauty  will  never  be  perfect,  till  the  sap  of  principle 
circulates  to  the  extremities  of  human  action.  The  true 
polish  and  beauty  of  society  can  result  only  from  the 
principle  of  benevolence  showing  itself  in  a  graceful  and 
practical  attention  to  the  minor  wants  and  to  the  feelings 
of  others.  But  whatever  we  may  decide  in  regard  to 
their  respective  limits  in  this  department,  it  is  obvious 
that  taste,  so  far  as  it  goes,  must  be  favorable  to  morals. 

We  now  pass  to  what  is  indisputably  the  province  of 
morals.  And  here  our  first  inquiry  will  be,  what  are  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  emotions  of  taste  are 
awakened  by  moral  actions  ?  In  reply  to  this  inquiry  I 
observe,  that  the  emotion  of  beauty, — leaving  sublimity 
for  the  present  out  of  the  question, — is  awakened  by  a 
17 


130 

moral  action  chiefly,  and  perhaps  solely,  when  it  springs 
from  the  principle  of  duty  acting  in  coincidence  with  the 
desires,  the  affections,  or  some  other  natural  and  inferior 
principle  of  action.  This  point  is  of  practical  impor- 
tance, and  requires  illustration.  Man,  as  we  all  know, 
has  various  principles  of  action, — such  as  instincts,  de- 
sires, affections,  passions.  These  may  impel  him  to  a 
course  of  action  directly  opposed  to  that  indicated  by  a 
sense  of  duty,  and  they  may  also  lead  him  to  perform  the 
same  actions  as  are  dictated  by  it ;  and  the  position  is, 
that  moral  beauty  arises  when  there  is  a  partial  or  entire 
coincidence  between  the  principle  of  duty  and  these 
inferior  powers. 

That  this  is  so  is  evident,  because  there  are  many 
actions  which  are  right,  which  are  imperatively  required 
by  duty,  which  yet  do  not  awaken  in  the  mind  of  the  im- 
partial spectator  any  admiration — for  we  must  here  keep  in 
mind  the  distinction  already  made  between  admiration 
and  approbation.  The  simple  payment  of  a  debt,  for 
example,  does  not  awaken  any  admiration,  though  we 
approve  the  act  and  should  strongly  condemn  him  who 
should  not  do  it  when  it  was  in  his  power.  In  this  case, 
there  can  be  mingled  with  the  performance  of  duty  no 
play  of  the  generous  emotions.  He  who  performs  all  his 
actions  solely  from  a  sense  of  duty,  has  our  approbation, 
our  respect ;  but  he  who,  in  addition  to  this,  is  possessed 
of  warm  affections  which  always  coincide  in  their  prompt- 
ings with  what  is  right,  has  also  our  admiration  and  love. 
Duty  is  to  the  aflfections,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  what 
logic  is  to  rhetoric  in  a  discourse.  Logic  forms  an  excel- 
lent body  for  a  discourse  ;  we  assent  to  it,  we  approve  it, 
it  is  good,  all  good,  but  it  awakens  no  admiration.  It  is 
not  till  rhetoric  sends  its  warm  life-blood  to  mantle  on  the 
cold  cheek  of  logic,  and  clothes  its  angular  form  in  the 
garments  of  taste,  that  we  begin  to  admire  the  discourse. 
And  so  it  is  with  duty.     It  is  an  excellent  body  to  the 


131 

course  of  our  conduct  in  life ;  nothing  else  will  do  ;  but  it 
may  be  so  performed  as  to  appear  unamiable  and  even  re- 
pulsive. In  order  to  be  beautiful,  there  must  be  connected 
with  it  some  manifestation  of  natural  affection  or  graceful 
emotion. 

And  here  I  may  remark,  that  though  we  have  a  right 
to  expect  of  every  man  that  he  will  do  his  duty,  yet  the 
display  of  this  beauty  is  not  equally  within  the  power  of 
all,  since  the  existence  and  manifestation  of  emotion  de^ 
pend,  to  some  extent,  upon  the  temperament.  As  there 
are  some  who  have  naturally  a  meagre  intellect,  so  there 
are  others  whose  minds  seem  to  be  barren  of  those  finer 
sympathies  and  affections  of  our  nature,  which  are  the 
verdure  of  the  soul,  and  upon  which  the  eye  always  rests 
with  pleasure.  The  characters  of  some  good  men  are 
dry  and  unattractive.  They  are  harsh,  and  hard-visaged, 
and  seem  too  much  like  wooden  men  moved  by  rule  and 
calculation.  Such  persons  often  seem  better,  and  worse, 
than  they  really  are.  Their  freedom  from  extravagances 
on  the  one  hand,  and,  on  the  other,  that  want  of  feeling 
which  is  wrongly  termed  by  many  hardness  of  heart,  is 
equally  the  result  of  temperament. 

That  the  doctrine  which  I  now  advocate  is  correct,  ap- 
pears also  from  the  effect  produced  upon  our  feelings  when 
we  observe  habit  taking  the  place  of  sentiment  in  the 
performance  of  duty.  We  have  all  seen  persons  enter 
upon  a  course  of  virtuous  activity,  and  continue  it  for  a 
time  from  a  sense  of  duty,  sustained  by  ardent  feeling  ; 
but  after  a  time  the  feeling  has  died  away,  and  there  has 
come  in  its  stead  habit,  or  a  regard  to  consistency,  to  sus- 
tain the  sense  of  duty  in  keeping  up  the  same  course  of 
external  action.  When  this  change  has  taken  place,  we 
are  all  conscious  that  the  beauty  of  the  conduct  is  greatly 
diminished  ; — its  spirit  has  vanished  ;  the  dew  of  its  youth 
is  exhaled. 

I  said  that  this  was  a  practical  point,  and  I  now  wish 


132 

to  show,  in  connection  with  it,  precisely  how  it  is  that 
mischief  arises  from  the  perversion  of  moral  taste  ;  as  was 
shown,  in  the  former  Lecture,  how  it  arises  from  its  per- 
version in  other  things.  In  opposition  to  the  hard  and 
dry  characters  mentioned  above,  there  are  those  whose 
susceptibilities  are  acute,  whose  sympathies  are  quick, 
whose  feelings  are  generous,  whose  affections  are  ardent, 
who  do  every  thing  so  promptly  and  so  heartily  that  im- 
pulse seems  almost  to  supply  the  place  of  principle. 
There  is  something  very  attractive  in  a  character  of  this 
kind ;  there  is  an  ease  and  freedom  about  it  which  seems 
to  put  aside  all  labor  of  calculation,  and  it  moreover 
exhibits  our  nature  in  the  pleasing  garb  of  natural  good- 
ness. It  is  for  this  reason  that  novelists,  who  draw  men 
as  they  wish  to  have  them,  and  not  as  they  are,  have 
almost  universally  made  these  fine  instincts  of  humanity 
the  guide  of  their  hero,  and  the  basis  of  his  character. 
This  is,  indeed,  if  I  understand  it,  the  basis  of  this  kind 
of  literature,  and  one  chief  source  of  the  injury  it  pro- 
duces. The  exhibition  of  these  instincts,  and  affections, 
and  emotions,  springing  up  at  random  and  acting  without 
the  control  of  principle,  holds  out  no  stimulus  to  exertion; 
and  their  possession  and  exercise  are  often  in  fact,  and  often 
too  in  books,  connected  with  great  corruption  of  moral 
character. 

Taking,  therefore,  as  the  main  ingredient  in  the  char- 
acter of  those  who  are  to  make  the  chief  figure  in  this 
kind  of  writing,  what  Miss  Martineau  calls  spontaneous- 
wess,  — and  which  she  and  a  certain  wise  friend  of  hers  in 
Boston  thought  should  by  all  means  be  encouraged  and 
reverenced^ — we  may  mix  the  other  materials  somewhat  to 
our  taste.  An  excellent  and  much-approved  recipe  for 
the  hero  of  a  novel  is  the  following : — 1.  Make  him  hand- 
some, for  beauty  is  to  the  body  what  spontaneousness  is  to 
the  mind,  a  sort  of  physical  spontaneousness.  Or,  if  you  do 
not  make  him  handsome,  do  what  mnounts  to  much  the 


133 

same  thing,  give  him  an  air ;  let  him  have  something 
about  him  that  is  pecuUar,  so  that  those  who  scan  him 
closely  may  observe,  under  those  apparently  indifferent 
features,  a  certain  something,  a  sign  of  the  fire  that  is 
slumbering  within.  2.  If  you  find  it  necessary,  for  fash- 
ion's sake,  to  put  him  at  school,  or  at  any  place  for  study, 
make  him  idle,  generous,  somewhat  mischievous,  a  great 
hater  of  mathematics,  (for,  so  far  as  my  knowledge  ex- 
tends, no  hero  of  a  novel  ever  yet  knew  any  thing  about 
mathematics,)  give  him  some  whimsical  pursuit  for  the 
hours  when  he  chooses  to  do  any  thing,  and  then  make 
him  speak,  as  he  has  occasion,  Italian,  French  and  Span- 
ish, which  he  learned  by  instinct.  3.  Make  him  act 
from  impulse,  and  not  from  'principle,  and  get  him  into 
difficulty  through  the  influence  of  these  same  genei'ous 
impulses.  It  is  on  difficulties  thus  created  that  the  plot 
must  turn.  4.  Get  him  in  love.  5.  Make  him  run  a 
gauntlet  of  difficulties  a  volume  and  a  half  long,  furnish- 
ing a  new  illustration  of  that  old  adage,  "  the  course  of 
true  love  never  did  run  smooth."  6.  Marry  him,  and  let 
him  live  many  years  in  perfect  felicity. 

We  commonly  hear  it  said,  that  the  chief  mischief  of 
novel-reading  arises  from  the  false  pictures  of  life  which 
novels  present.  This  is  doubtless  a  source  of  no  small 
mischief;  but  in  my  view,  a  much  greater  evil  arises 
from  their  holding  up,  directly  or  indirectly,  false  princi- 
ples of  action,  and  casting  contempt  upon  the  true  ;  from 
their  leading  young  persons  to  admire  that  which  they 
esteem  graceful,  rather  than  that  which  is  respectable  and 
right  in  the  conduct  of  life.  There  is  in  those  works  an 
unnatural  separation  made  between  the  principle  of  virtue 
and  that  which  gives  to  virtue  its  beauty ;  and  principle 
is  represented  as  formal  and  cold  and  perhaps  ridiculous. 
Prudence,  especially,  is  a  virtue  of  which  no  heroine  of  a 
novel  must  ever  be  guilty.  In  a  recent  work,  which  de- 
serves great  credit  for  avoiding  the  general  fault  just  men- 


134 

tioned,  we  are  yet  told  that  prudence  was  a  virtue  for 
which  the  heroine  was  never  famous,  and  a  slight  odium 
is  cast  upon  the  virtue  itself  by  making  it  appear,  in  the 
rival  of  the  heroine,  somewhat  stiff  and  pragmatical. 

It  is  thus  that  these  works  awaken  extensively,  in  the 
minds  of  the  young,  associations  unfavorable  to  the  sterner 
and  sterling  virtues ;  and  in  many  cases,  these  amiable 
qualities  are  so  associated  with  vice  as  to  render  it  attrac- 
tive. It  is  thus  that  we  are  presented  by  popular  novel- 
ists— and  in  such  a  manner  as  I  know  carries  along  the 
sympathies  of  many  young  men,  while  their  imaginations 
are  rendered  familiar  with  the  haunts  of  vice — with 
gentlemen-robbers,  who  rob  in  style  ;  who  are  so  generous 
that  they  never  rob  the  poor;  who  never  shed  human 
blood  if  people  will  give  up  their  money  without  it ;  and 
if  they  are  occasionally  obliged  to  blow  out  the  brains  of 
some  agent  of  the  law,  they  are  really  sorry  for  it,  though 
they  do  not  see  how  such  impertinent  fellows  could  ex- 
pect any  thing  better.  It  is  thus  that  the  impression  is 
received,  that  a  certain  class  of  impulses  is  sufficient  to 
secure  success  in  life,  and  even  to  excuse  the  want  of 
principle  ;  and  young  men  with  their  heads  full  of  pic- 
tures, not  perhaps  so  bad  as  this,  yet  in  their  effect  the 
same,  rush  eagerly  into  life  without  fixed  principles  and 
fixed  aims. 

To  him  who  is  without  experience,  there  is  no  sight 
more  beautiful  than  that  of  a  young  man  of  an  ingenu- 
ous nature  entering  upon  life,  and  resting  upon  his  own 
good  impulses  to  keep  him  from  evil.  But  such  a  sight, 
even  when  there  has  been  no  corruption  like  that  just 
spoken  of,  now  causes  apprehension  in  me ;  for  I  have 
seen  him  who  had  every  thing,  in  his  person  and  in  his 
sensibilities,  to  excite  admiration  and  love,  tarrying  long 
at  the  wine,  and  seeking  mixed  wine ;  I  have  seen  him 
going  to  that  "  house  "  which  ''  is  the  way  to  hell : "  and 
therefore  it  is  that  I  would  utter  a  solemn  protest  against 


135 

any  thing  which  would  divorce  the  beauty  of  virtue  from 
the  principle  of  virtue,  or  which  would  give  an  impression 
that  there  is  security  without  fixed  principle.  Even 
"genius,"  with  all  these  amiable  qualities — 

"  Yet  may  lack  the  aid 
Implored  by  humble  minds  and  hearts  afraid  ; 
May  leave  to  timid  souls  fhe  shield  and  sword 
Of  the  tried  faith  and  the  resistless  word ; 
Amid  a  world  of  dangers  venturing  forth, 
Frail  but  yet  fearless,  proud  in  conscious  worth, 
Till  strong  temptation,  in  some  fatal  time. 
Assails  the  heart  and  wins  the  soul  to  crime." 

Then, 

"  All  that  honor  brings  against  the  force 
Of  headlong  passion,  aids  its  rapid  course; 
Its  slight  resistance  but  provokes  the  fire, 
As  wood-work  stops  the  flame,  and  then  conveys  it  higher." 

With  such  a  basis  to  the  characters  presented,  it  will 
follow  of  course,  that  the  emotions  and  the  sensibilities 
will  be  chiefly  addressed  in  these  works,  and  thus  they 
become  the  principal  means  of  promoting  that  false  and 
selfish  sensibility  which  is  so  often  cultivated  in  refined 
society.  This  is  a  more  refined  species  of  intemperance, 
and  is  to  the  mind  what  intemperance  in  strong  drink  is 
to  the  body.  It  causes  excitement  for  the  mere  selfish 
enjoyment  produced  by  it,  without  leading  to  any  exer- 
tion. And  as  the  grosser  species  of  intemperance  is  more 
common  among  one  sex,  so  it  is  to  be  feared  that  this 
more  refined  species  is  more  common  among  the  other ; 
and  that  for  both,  circulating  libraries,  and  other  libraries, 
instead  of  furnishing  wholesome  entertainment,  are  too 
often  converted  into  mere  intellectual  dram-shops.  There 
are  many  who  seek  chiefly  for  excitement,  who  have  a 
constant  craving  for  it,  whose  emotions  and  mental  sensi- 
bilities have    become  accustomed    to  a  set    of  artificial 


136 

stimulants  till  they  are  sensible  to  no  other,  and  they 
become  as  remorselessly  selfish  as  the  drunkard  himself. 
I  would  sooner  apply  for  an  act  of  genuine  kindness,  one 
which  should  reach  actual  want,  to  a  woman  in  a  log- 
house,  upon  the  side  of  a  mountain,  surrounded  by  hun- 
gry children,  than  to  the  daintiest  young  lady  whose 
sensibilities  have  spindled  up  and  wilted  in  the  artificial 
heat  of  novel-reading.  In  order  to  perform  the  duties  of 
benevolence  and  philanthropy,  it  is  indispensable  that  the 
sensibilities  should  be  kept  alive  to  the  impressions  of 
misery,  as  it  actually  presents  itself,  in  all  its  squalid  ac- 
companiments. 

**  Sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  a  Howard's  eye 
Drop  on  the  cheek  of  one  he  hfts  from  earth ; 
And  he  who  works  me  good  with  unmoved  face, 
Does  it  but  half;  he  chills  me  while  he  aids, — 
My  benefactor,  not  my  fellow-man. 
But  even  this,  this  cold  benevolence 

Seems  worth,  seems  manhood,  when  there  rise  before  me 
The  sluggard  Pity's  vision-weaving  tribe, 
Who  sigh  for  wretchedness,  yet  shun  the  wretched. 
Nursing,  in  some  delicious  solitude. 
Their  slothful  loves  and  dainty  sympathies  !  " 

It  was  this  esteem  in  which  mankind  hold  the  sensi- 
bilities and  impulses,  this  preference  of  spontaneousness 
without  its  connection  with  principle,  which  gave  its 
popularity  to  what  has  been  called  the  sentimental  school 
— the  results  of  which  ought  to  teach  society  a  lesson  not 
soon  to  be  forgotten.  Concerning  this  school,  it  is  justly 
remarked  by  Coleridge,  that  "all  the  mischief  achieved 
by  Hobbes,  and  the  whole  school  of  materialists,  will 
appear  inconsiderable  if  it  be  compared  with  the  mischief 
effected  and  occasioned  by  the  sentimental  philosophy  of 
Sterne  and  his  numerous  imitators.  The  vilest  appetites, 
and  the  most  remorseless  inconstancy  towards  their  ob- 
jects, acquired  the  title  of  the  heart — the  irresistible  feel- 
ings—the   too    tender  sensibility:    and   if  the   frosts   of 


137 

prudence,  the  icy  chains  of  human  law,  thawed  and  van- 
ished at  the  genial  warmth  of  human  nature,  who  could 
help  it?     It  was  an  amiable  weakness." 

1  would  here  remark,  that  I  have  no  objection  to  ficti- 
tious writings  as  such.  There  are  those  to  which  I  do 
not  object.  Let  them  cease,  first,  to  present  false  pictures 
of  life  :  secondly,  to  array  the  sensibilities  and  associations 
of  the  mind  against  principle :  and,  thirdly,  let  them 
cease  to  create  and  feed  a  morbid  craving  for  excitement, 
and  to  destroy  the  balance  between  the  feelings  and  the 
judgment :  and  I  shall  not  object  to  them.  The  mass  of 
these  writings,  however,  do  produce  each  and  all  of  these 
effects,  and  are,  so  far,  indisputably  pernicious. 

1  have  been  thus  particular  in  pointing  out  the  evils 
which  arise  from  arraying  what  is  beautiful  and  graceful 
in  morals  and  in  conduct  against  that  which  is  right,  be- 
cause I  do  not  believe  that  the  community  are  sufficiently 
warned  against  the  mischief  it  is  working,  and  in  many 
cases  are  not  perhaps  aware  of  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
wrought.  Evil  gains  advantage  over  man  by  dividing 
him  against  himself,  by  bringing  into  collision  faculties 
that  were  intended  to  work  harmoniously  together ;  and 
we  may  regard  it  as  settled,  that  whoever  or  whatever 
would  set  up  mere  impulses,  or  sensibilities,  or  emotions, 
in  the  place  of  the  reason  and  conscience  of  man,  is  thus 
dividing  him  against  himself.  It  is  with  the  conscience 
of  man  as  it  is  with  a  king.  He  may  have  his  prime 
minister,  who  is  his  chief  favorite,  and  next  to  himself; 
but  he  must  never  abandon  his  power,  or  suffer  the  high- 
est subject  to  depose  him  from  the  throne.  The  desires 
and  affections  are  then  only  truly  beautiful,  when  they 
are  in  ready  attendance  at  the  court  of  their  rightful 
sovereign. 

Having  now  spoken  of  the  manner  in  which  evil  is 
done  by  those  who  care  to  please  rather  than  to  improve 
mankind,  I  cannot  leave  this  part  of  the  subject  without 
18 


138 

suggesting,  to  the  friends  of  principle  and  of  religion, 
how  much,  if  what  has  been  said  is  correct,  they  may  do 
to  counteract  this  evil  by  a  free,  a  hearty,  a  joyful,  and 
therefore  an  attractive,  mode  of  doing  that  which  is  right. 
Whence  have  arisen  those  associations  of  coldness  and 
formality  and  gloom,  as  connected  with  duty,  which 
haunt  the  imaginations  of  many  young  persons,  and  which 
have  just  as  little  existence  in  reality  as  other  spectres  of 
the  night  ?  Is  it  not  in  part  from  an  unnatural  austerity, 
or  from  a  cowardly  and  faltering  step,  a  want  of  freedom 
and  power  and  beauty,  in  the  exhibitions  of  virtue  and 
principle  on  the  part  of  those  who  profess  to  adhere  to 
them  ?  It  is  not  as  it  should  be,  when  the  glad  and  the 
graceful  emotions  readily  spring  up  by  the  side  of  every 
path  that  we  walk  in,  except  the  path  of  duty.  He  who 
marches  under  the  banner  of  principle,  is  not  only  to  feel 
that  he  is  engaged  in  a  good  cause,  but  is  also  to  see  in 
that  cause  a  beauty  which  shall  be  to  him  what  music  is 
to  the  soldier,  giving  cheerfulness  to  his  countenance  and 
alacrity  to  his  step.  His  is  not  indeed  to  be  the  unchas- 
tened,  and  reckless,  and  merely  animal  joy  that  is  uncon- 
scious of  the  evil  that  exists  and  must  be  met ;  but 
it  is  to  be  the  joy  of  him  who,  though  he  is  travelling  in 
a  difficult  and  obscure  path,  yet  sees  before  him  the  bright 
and  steady  light  of  his  own  happy  home.  The  more 
those  who  act  from  principle  are  able  to  combine,  with 
the  most  perfect  rectitude  and  uncompromising  faithful- 
ness, the  cultivation  and  play  of  all  the  graceful  and 
tender  emotions,  the  more  will  they  do  to  promote  the 
cause  in  which  they  labor.  I  know,  and  here  is  the  diffi- 
culty, that  most  virtue  is  too  feeble  for  this ;  and  I  would 
not  that  there  should  be  put  on  any  affectation  of  freedom 
or  ease.  Virtue  should  move  easily  and  gracefully  only 
as  it  is  strong,  but  it  should  become  strong,  that  it  may 
move  easily  and  gracefully,  and  thus  become  to  all  men 
as  beautiful  as  it  is  obligatory. 


139 

It  is  not  a  little  that  the  Christian  religion  has  suffered 
from  the  mistakes  of  its  adherents  on  this  point.  It  had 
been  better  if  they  had  more  regarded  the  spirit  of  its 
Founder  when  he  commanded  his  disciples,  even  when 
they  fasted,  not  to  be  of  a  sad  countenance,  as  the  hypo- 
crites were.  The  impression  we  get  of  Paul,  notwith- 
standing his  labors  and  sutferings,  is  that  he  was  a  happy 
man.  If  he  was  sometimes  "  sorrowful,"  he  was  yet 
'' always  rejoicing."  The  movements  of  his  spirit  were 
so  ready  and  free,  in  view  of  the  great  subjects  that  filled 
his  mind,  that  he  reminds  us,  more  than  any  other  man,  of 
the  ''  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns."  What  is  it, 
indeed,  that  gives  its  perfect  beauty  to  our  conception  of 
the  worship  of  heaven  ?  Is  it  not,  that  the  most  perfect 
law  is  there  fully  obeyed,  and  is  yet  no  restraint  upon  the 
highest  and  freest  expansion  of  feeling  ?  It  is  when  this 
is  so,  and  then  only,  that  moral  beauty  is  perfect. 

We  have  thus  far  considered  moral  beauty  only.  We 
now  pass  to  another  branch  of  our  subject,  the  moral 
sublime.  When  speaking  on  taste  in  general,  it  was  not 
necessary,  for  any  purposes  I  then  had  in  view,  that  I 
should  make  a  distinction  between  beauty  and  sublimity, 
either  as  they  exist  in  themselves,  or  as  they  are  occa- 
sioned by  outward  objects.  Indeed,  it  is  the  opinion  of 
many  writers,  that  there  is  no  radical  distinction  between 
them,  but  that  subhmity  is  merely  the  feeling  of  beauty 
heightened.  This  seems  to  me  doubtful,  even  in  mate- 
rial beauty  ;  but  in  our  present  department,  the  occasions 
on  which  they  arise  are  so  different,  that  they  must  be 
distinguished.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  I  treated  of 
beauty  by  itself. 

It  has  been  observed,  that  the  emotion  of  moral  beauty 
arises  when  there  is  a  coincidence  between  the  sense  of 
duty  and  certain  inferior  principles  of  action.  I  now 
observe,  that  the  emotion  of  moral  sublimity  is  awakened, 
when  the   sense   of  duty  is  opposed   by  inclination,  or 


140 

affectiorij  or  by  any  or  all  the  inferior  principles  of  action, 
and  triumphs  over  them.  Its  principle  consists  in  a  power 
of  self-control  and  of  self-sacrifice,  in  those  cases  in  which 
they  are  difficult. 

The  illustration  of  this  point  will  lead  to  a  further 
confirmation  of  what  was  said  in  reference  to  moral 
beauty.  No  sight,  for  example,  can  be  more  beautiful 
than  that  of  a  family  in  which  there  is  mutual  attach- 
ment, and  in  which  the  performance  of  every  duty  is 
sweetened  by  affection.  How  beautiful  is  the  assiduity 
of  a  child,  who  bears  with  every  infirmity,  and  soothes 
every  care,  and  anticipates  every  want,  of  a  parent  in 
sickness  or  in  age  !  It  is  beautiful,  but  not  sublime.  The 
conduct  of  that  young  man,  who  labors  hard  and  denies 
himself  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  the  young,  that  he  may 
support  an  aged  mother,  or  add  to  her  comfort,  is  highly 
beautiful ;  but  natural  affection  co-operates  with  a  sense 
of  duty,  and  therefore  it  is  not  sublime.  No  one  has  ever 
considered  as  sublime  the  conduct  of  iEneas,  when  he 
bore  his  aged  father  upon  his  shoulders  from  the  flames  of 
Troy.  But  when  the  ancient  Brutus,  with  a  power  that 
was  supreme,  sat  in  judgment  on  his  own  son  who  was 
accused  of  being  a  traitor,  and  when  he  gave  the  sign  to  the 
lictor  to  take  him  to  execution,  then  there  was  a  struggle  ; 
then  inflexible  justice  triumphed  over  natural  affection  ; 
and  it  was — not  beautiful,  it  was  too  awful  for  that — but 
it  was  sublime.  That  act  of  our  Saviour,  (if  I  may  be 
permitted  to  refer  to  such  a  scene  in  this  connection,)  by 
which  he  remembered  his  mother  upon  the  cross  and 
provided  for  her  wants,  was  beautiful — how  beautiful ! 
His  prayer  for  his  murderers  was  sublime.  It  is,  in  gen- 
eral, acts  of  tenderness,  gentleness,  condescension,  pity, 
gratitude,  humanity,  that  are  beautiful ;  while  it  is,  on 
the  other  hand,  acts  of  magnanimity,  of  fortitude,  of  in- 
flexible justice,  of  high  patriotism,  and,  on  proper  occa- 
sions, of  contempt  of  danger  and  of  death,  that  are  sublime. 


141 

In  all  these  latter  cases  it  will  be  seen  that  the  principle  is 
the  same,  and  that  the  sublime  emotion  is  awakened  by 
virtuous  self-control,  in  union  with  high  resolve. 

We  hence  see  why  it  is  that  periods  of  difficulty,  and 
oppression,  and  persecution,  are  favorable  to  the  exhibition 
of  the  moral  sublime.  They  test  the  amount  of  attach- 
ment to  principle  which  there  is  among  men,  and  the 
sacrifices  which  they  are  willing  to  make  for  it.  Accord- 
ingly, it  has  been  in  such  emergencies  that  men  have 
arisen,  who,  under  the  inspiration  of  the  great  principles 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  have  been  ready  to  go,  in 
the  face  of  every  danger,  wherever  their  duty  should  call 
them  ;  as  Luther  was  determined  to  go  to  the  Diet  of 
Worms,  though  he  '  should  find  as  many  devils  in  that  city 
as  there  were  tiles  upon  the  houses.'  These  are  the  men, 
who,  though  they  have  been  opposed,  and  vilified,  and 
persecuted  in  their  day,  have  yet  received  the  homage  of 
after  ages ;  who  have  stood  as  the  beacon-lights  of  the 
world ;  and  whose  names  have  been  the  watchword  of 
those  who  have  rallied  and  struck  for  the  united  reign  of 
liberty  and  law.  Such  men  have  almost  always  been  in 
advance  of  their  age,  and  the  people  of  that  age  have  not 
comprehended  them.  They  have  reverenced  the  great 
men  of  former  times  ;  they  have  built  the  sepulchres  of 
the  prophets,  but  have  persecuted  those  who  were  sent 
unto  them.  It  is  not  therefore  surprising  that  Seneca  has 
spoken  so  largely  of  the  benefits  of  adversity,  as  alone 
giving  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  the  heroic  virtues  ; 
and  has  said  that  a  good  man,  struggling  with  adversity, 
was  a  spectacle  worthy  of  the  gods. 

But  it  is  not  necessary  to  the  existence,  though  it  may 
be  to  the  exhibition,  of  moral  heroism,  that  we  should  be 
placed  in  circumstances  of  external  adversity.  Wherever 
there  is  moral  combat,  there  may  be  moral  sublimity ;  and 
this  combat  is  necessary  for  the  accomplishment  of  that 
triumph  which  every  man  is  Called  to  gain  over  himself. 


142 

The  force  and  grandeur  of  virtue  are  then  seen,  when  we 
sacrifice  to  it  our  appetites,  our  avarice,  our  pride,  our 
vanity,  our  ambition,  our  resentments,  till  every  evil  pas- 
sion is  brought  into  subjection  to  reason  and  conscience. 

Such  being  the  nature  of  the  moral  sublime,  it  is  obvi- 
ous that  there  is  much  less  danger  to  morals  from  its 
perversion  than  from  the  perversion  of  the  beautiful. 
There  is  here  no  natural  passion  to  come  in  as  an  ally  of 
principle,  and  which  may  take  the  place  of  it ;  but  it  is 
duty  struggling  single-handed,  and  triumphing  over  all 
the  might  of  external  nature,  and  all  the  force  of  human 
propensity.  Virtue  may  indeed  exist  in  perfect  serenity, 
and  be  exercised  without  an  obstacle  ;  but  in  this  world, 
(and  it  is  that  which  makes  it  a  place  of  probation,)  there  is 
little  virtue  except  on  the  condition  of  struggling  against 
and  overcoming  inclination  or  passion.  If  we  succeed  in 
this  struggle,  we  feel  in  our  own  breasts  a  peace  which  is 
not  only  present  happiness,  but  the  promise  of  future 
reward  ;  and  we  awaken  in  the  breasts  of  others  the 
emotions  of  moral  sympathy,  of  approbation,  of  sublimity 
in  its  highest  forms,  till  they  are  ready  to  welcome  us 
with  acclaim,  and  we  find  that  virtue  is  not  only  happi- 
ness, but  is  also  "  glory,  and  honor,  and  immortality." 

But  though  moral  beauty  and  sublimity  are  so  different 
in  their  nature  and  in  the  occasions  on  which  they  arise, 
it  must  not  be  supposed  that  they  do  not  often  blend  with 
each  other  in  actual  life.  The  general  course  of  Howard, 
for  instance,  being  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  hu- 
manity, had  great  moral  beauty,  and  yet  the  sacrifices 
which  he  made  were  often  so  great  as  to  cause  that  course 
to  partake  of  the  moral  sublime. 

If  the  account  of  moral  taste,  now  given,  be  correct,  the 
analysis  of  the  subject  is  the  only  argument  needed.  Its 
cultivation  must,  of  course,  be  favorable  to  morals,  since 
it  would  lead,  m  its  perfect  state,  to  the  same  course  of 
conduct  as  would  be  required  by  principle.     There  is, 


143 

indeed,  a  whole  school  of  philosophers,  that  of  Shaftes- 
bury, who  have  looked  upon  virtue,  and  have  recom- 
mended it,  as  beautiful  rather  than  as  obligatory ;  who 
have  regarded  it  as  a  sentiment  rather  than  a  principle  ; 
and  whose  writings  have  been  calculated  to  awaken  en- 
thusiasm in  the  cause  of  virtue,  but  not  to  give  it  its 
proper  sanctions.  So  far,  however,  as  this  class  of  feel- 
ings would  lead  us,  it  is  in  the  direct  path  of  virtue,  and 
they  may,  no  doubt,  be  so  cultivated,  and  especially  by 
the  young,  as  to  furnish  efficient  aid  to  the  principle  of 
duty.  Perhaps  few  persons,  rightly  educated,  are  aware 
how  many  wrong  actions  they  avoid  with  the  greater  care 
because  they  are  also  mean  ;  how  many  right  actions  they 
perform  with  the  greater  readiness  because  they  are  in 
accordance  with  the  requisitions  of  a  cultivated  moral 
taste.  Considered  as  a  principle  of  action,  such  a  taste 
provides  an  effectual  security  against  the  grossness  con- 
nected with  many  vices,  and  cherishes  a  temper  of  mind 
friendly  to  all  that  is  amiable,  or  generous,  or  elevated  in 
our  nature.  While,  therefore,  we  regard  taste  as  an  im- 
portant ally  to  the  sense  of  duty,  we  are  not  to  rely  chiefly 
upon  it.  It  would  need  stability,  and  would  be  constant- 
ly liable  to  be  led  astray  by  the  influence  of  fashion,  or  of 
casual  association.  We  may  however  do  more,  we  should 
do  more,  to  combine  them  ;  to  unite  taste  and  principle 
in  the  conduct  of  life  ;  to  do,  ourselves,  and  to  lead  others 
to  do,  what  is  becoming,  as  well  as  what  is  right. 

Man  is  capable  of  forming  to  himself  an  ideal  model,  of 
embodying  a  conception  of  excellence  such  as  he  has 
never  seen,  and  of  acting  with  reference  to  it.  It  is  this 
which  renders  him  capable  of  progression  ;  and  one  great 
reason  why  men  are  stationary,  is,  that  they  have  in  their 
minds  no  fixed  and  definite  standard  of  excellence  after 
which  they  are  reaching.  Young  men,  to  whom  I  speak, 
here  is  the  point  at  which  many  of  you  doubtless  fail. 
You  are  borne  on  by  the  current,  and  form  to  yourselves 


144 

no  worthy  object  of  pursuit,  after  which  you  bring  your- 
selves, by  self-discipline,  steadily  to  labor.  But  without 
doing  this,  no  man  ever  yet  exerted  a  high  and  worthy 
influence ;  no  man  ever  can.  Permit  me  then  to  propose 
to  you,  in  your  capacity  as  social  beings,  an  object  after 
which  you  may  thus  strive.  It  is  the  combination  of 
perfect  moral  principle  with  perfect  simplicity  and  refine- 
ment of  manners — the  union,  in  the  conduct  of  life,  of 
Morals  and  Taste. 

There  remains  but  a  single  consideration  which  I  shall 
adduce,  to  show  that  there  is  the  connection  between 
taste  and  morals  for  which  I  contend.  It  is,  that  we 
naturally  associate  with  goodness,  beauty  of  form ;  and 
that  in  a  perfect  state,  we  conceive  of  goodness  as  sur- 
rounded by  objects  that  are  pleasing  to  the  taste.  Per- 
haps this  may  not  have  been  noticed  by  all,  but  a  little 
attention  to  what  passes  in  our  own  minds  will  convince 
us  that  it  is  so.  This  natural  association  of  beauty  and 
goodness  perhaps  arises  from  the  fact,  that  every  indication 
of  goodness  as  expressed  in  the  countenance  is  pleasing, 
and  may  be  heightened  into  beauty.  It  is  suprising  how 
soon  we  come  to  regard  as  pleasing,  the  most  ordinary 
features,  when  we  have  associated  with  them  a  fund  of 
good  qualities ;  or  rather,  the  features  soon  become  like 
the  letters  of  a  book,  which  we  regard  only  for  the  mean- 
ing they  convey.  As  I  have  said  before,  no  features  are 
so  ordinary  that  they  may  not  come  to  appear  to  us  beau- 
tiful by  the  expression  of  good  qualities  ;  and  if  I  may 
suppose,  which  I  would  by  no  means  assert,  that  there  are 
any  homely  persons  present,  I  would  congratulate  them 
on  the  inducements  they  have  to  cultivate  the  only  beauty 
that  is  permanent,  or  that  can  be  the  foundation  of  lasting 
attachment. 

Not  only,  however,  may  homely  features  become 
beautiful  by  their  expression,  but  we  have,  I  think,  a 
natural  association  of  positive  beauty  as  connected  with 


145 

the  goodness  which  we  have  not  seen,  and  of  positive 
deformity  as  connected  with  vice.  When  we  read  of  good 
men,  we  think  of  them  as  having  something  in  their 
appearance  corresponding  with  their  character ;  and  no 
man,  1  am  sure,  can  suppose  that  Benedict  Arnold  had  a 
countenance  that  was  pleasant  to  look  upon.  But  what 
is  conchisive  on  this  point  is,  that  no  man  ever  conceived 
of  Satan  in  his  proper  form,  as  beautiful,  or  ever  conceived 
of  an  angel,  except  as  clothed  in  light  and  beauty. 

It  is  this  natural  supposition  of  the  connection  of  beauty 
of  mind  with  beauty  of  form,  that  gives  its  plausibility 
and  point  to  a  dream  of  Sir  Isaac  Bickerstaff,  as  related  in 
one  of  the  Tattlers.  He  seemed  to  himself  to  be  in  an 
open  plain,  surrounded  by  an  immense  assembly  of 
females,  in  the  midst  of  whom  the  goddess  of  justice  sat 
enthroned,  and  holding  in  her  hand  a  mirror  of  such 
peculiar  properties  as  to  reflect  the  faces  of  those  who 
looked  into  it  in  exact  correspondence  with  their  charac- 
ters. This  mirror  was  held  up  and  turned  before  the 
assembly,  and  the  effect  may  well  be  imagined.  Some 
beautiful  women  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  their  faces 
become  still  more  beautiful,  while  many  more  were 
shocked  to  see  themselves  converted  into  perfect  frights. 
Some  who  were  homely  before, became  still  more  so;  while 
many  unassuming  and  modest  persons,  who  had  never 
dreamed  of  being  handsome,  and  so  had  sought  the  appro- 
bation of  their  own  consciences,  were  surprised  to  see 
how  their  faces  were  brightened  up.  There  was,  how- 
ever, one  face,  which  seemed  to  beam  with  a  celestial 
radiance,  and  was  so  surprisingly  beautiful,  that  Sir  Isaac 
determined  at  once  on  making  proposals  to  the  lady,  if  he 
could  but  ascertain  to  whom  it  belonged.  This,  by  care- 
ful attention,  he  was  soon  enabled  to  do,  and  found  that 
it  was  a  little,  grey-headed,  wrinkled  old  woman  who 
stood  by  his  side. 

There  is  something  ludicrous  in  the  manner  in  which 
19 


146 

this  is  set  forth,  but  it  involves  a  most  serious  and  pleas- 
ing truth.  It  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  disorders  of  the 
present  state  of  things,  that  goodness  is  ever  connected 
with  any  thing  but  beauty,  as  it  is  that  virtue  is  depressed 
while  vice  triumphs.  In  a  perfect  organization  and  state 
of  things,  matter  would  be  entirely  flexible  to  the  action 
of  spirit,  and,  of  course,  mtellectual  and  moral  beauty,  as 
well  as  their  opposites,  would  stamp  their  impress  perfectly 
on  the  features.  This  we  believe  will  be  the  case  when 
the  pliysical  nature  of  man  shall  be  reorganized;  and  -the 
good  shall  not  only  be  beautiful,  but,  as  I  have  already 
remarked  that  we  are  naturally  led  to  expect,  shall  be 
surrounded  with  all  those  objects  that  are  pleasing  to  the 
taste.  That  these  expectations  are  natural  may  be  shown 
from  the  writings  of  all  the  heathen  poets,  and  it  is 
pleasing  to  observe  how  perfectly  they  coincide  with  the 
representations  of  the  Scriptures  on  this  point.  We  are 
there  taught,  not  only  that  the  righteous  shall  shine  forth 
as  the  sun,  but  their  dwelling-place  is  described  as  a  city 
whose  foundations  are  garnished  with  all  manner  of  pre- 
cious stones,  whose  streets  are  pure  gold,  and  w^iose 
gates  are  pearls. 

Thus,  as  we  associate  with  royalty  its  regalia,  so  do 
we  associate  with  goodness,  beauty;  which  seems  to 
be  its  natural  appendage  :  and  not  only  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, but  also  in  our  own  constitution,  do  we  find  a 
promise,  that  Goodness  and  Beauty  shall  be  finally  and 
forever  luiited. 


vVDDRESS, 


DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE    POUTER    RI1ET(JR1CAL    SOCIETY    <)F    THE 
THEOLOGICAL    SEMINARY,  ANDOVER, 

September  5,  1837. 


In  its  literal  signification,  and  in  its  highest  character, 
the  Gospel  is  good  tidings ;  and  it  is  the  grand  business 
of  those  who  preach  it,  to  commend  it  as  worthy  of  all 
acceptation  to  them  that  are  lost.  Nothing  can  compen- 
sate in  a  preacher  for  the  want  of  a  heartfelt  conviction  of 
the  ruin  of  man,  and  that  the  Gospel  is  the  all-sufficient 
and  the  only  remedy ;  and  nothing  can  excuse  him  if  he 
do  not  urge  the  acceptance  of  this  remedy  upon  his  fel- 
low-men with  his  utmost  force  of  intellect  and  energy  of 
feeling.  His  appropriate  office  is  to  preach  the  Gospel  of 
peace,  to  bring  glad  tidings  of  good  things,  to  stand  as  an 
ambassador  for  Christ,  and  to  beseech  men  in  his  stead  to 
be  reconciled  to  God. 

But  though  this  is  the  chief,  it  is  not  the  only  relation 
which  the  preacher  holds  to  society,  for,  as  the  light  of  the 
sun  not  only  reveals  to  us  the  azure  depths  from  which  it 
comes,  but  also  (piickens  vegetation  into  life  and  spreads 
a  mantle  of  beauty  over  the  earth,  so  does  the  Gospel  of 
Christ  not  only  reveal  our  relations  to  God  and  the  heaven 
which  is  to  be  our  home,  but  it  is  spread  over  all  the 


148# 

social  relations,  and  is  an  essential  element  in  the  produc- 
tion of  that  moral  verdure  without  which  society  would 
be  a  waste.  Where  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  shines,  the 
whole  soil  is  meliorated.  The  hemlock  and  the  night- 
shade grow  less  rankly,  the  natural  affections  expand  more 
fully  and  shed  a  sweeter  fragrance,  and  the  seed  sown 
bears  fruit  for  this  life  as  well  as  for  that  which  is  to  come. 
The  system  which  the  preacher  advocates  is  therefore  not 
isolated  and  arbitrary ;  it  is  not  a  foreign  and  discordant 
mass,  thrown  into  society  and  fitted  only  to  be  a  source  of 
terror  to  some,  of  ridicule  to  others,  and  a  curse  to  all  ; 
but  it  has  relations  to  the  works  of  God,  to  the  social  and 
political  well-being  of  man,  to  the  secret  thoughts  and 
hidden  structure  as  well  as  to  the  future  destiny  of  the 
soul.  It  is  only  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  pure  Christianity 
that  social  man  can  attain  his  true  stature.  In  this  he 
moves  and  respires  freely ;  while  every  other  system  is 
like  an  atmosphere  more  or  less  deprived  of  its  vital  prin- 
ciple, and  lies  like  an  oppressive  and  suffocating  weight 
upon  him.  As  well  then  may  the  natural  philosopher 
rest  satisfied  with  his  knowledge  of  the  literal  atmosphere 
as  the  breath  of  life,  and  disregard  its  connection  with 
vegetation,  and  its  use  in  evaporating  water  and  reflecting 
light  and  conveying  sound  and  facilitating  commerce,  as 
may  the  student  of  Christianity  consider  it  simply  in  its 
relation  to  another  world,  without  regarding  its  connec- 
tion with  the  works  of  God,  and  its  present  influence  on 
the  well-being  of  society. 

It  is  for  the  want  of  studying  the  Gospel  in  these  rela- 
tions, of  seeing  its  reach  and  sweep  as  a  dispensation  of 
God,  that  the  clergy  of  Christianity  have  too  often  failed 
to  study  it  so  as  to  benefit  the  intellect,  and  to  seize  upon 
that  high  vantage  ground  for  the  presentation  of  truth 
which  they  ought  to  possess.  Hence,  too,  they  have  not 
merely  been  weak,  but,  as  partial  apprehension  is  nearly 
allied  to  perversion,  they  have  too  often  partaken  of  the 


149 

peculiar  character  which  has  always  and  necessarily- 
belonged  to  the  priesthood  of  other  religions.  To  this 
priestiiood,  basing  themselves  upon  authority  and  not 
upon  evidence,  appealing  to  the  fears  and  not  to  the 
reason  and  conscience  of  man,  their  doctrines  consisting 
of  fables  and  their  rites  of  whimsical  or  bloody  or  obscene 
observances,  a  rational  science  of  theology  has  been  im- 
possible. Appealing  to  the  senses  by  colossal,  or  hideous, 
or  tawdry  exhibitions  ;  placing  their  ultimate  reliance  on 
the  sense  of  guilt  which  must  be  appeased ;  seeking  con- 
cealment with  the  instinct  of  conscious  weakness  and  the 
skill  of  practised  knavery  ;  with  nothing  in  their  doctrines 
or  rites  adapted  to  elevate  man,  or  to  attach  his  sympathy 
or  respect ;  and  separated  as  they  have  been  from  the 
common  interests  of  the  race,  their  characters  have  been 
reserved  and  subtle,  revengeful  and  cruel.  Of  course 
they  have  been  regarded  by  the  people,  either  with 
distant  and  superstitious  awe,  or  with  hatred  and  con- 
tempt. The  natural  allies  of  arbitrary  power,  they  have 
had,  either  as  the  tools  or  instigators  of  despotism,  a  strong 
and  oppressive  influence  over  the  bodies  as  well  as  the 
souls  of  men.  This  character  has  eminently  belonged  to 
the  clergy  in  some  of  the  perverted  forms  of  Christianity  j 
and  hence  the  indefinite,  often  preposterous,  and  yet,  to 
those  in  a  certain  stage  of  information,  not  unnatural 
dread  of  any  connection  of  politics  or  government  with 
religion,  and  a  hostile  attitude  on  the  part  of  many  to- 
wards a  cause  on  which  freedom  is  supposed  to  look  with 
suspicion. 

But  even  if  these  moral  distortions  are  not  produced  by 
perverted  views,  yet  will  there  result  from  an  apprehension 
of  the  truth  itself  as  a  dry  and  disconnected  system,  a 
meagre  intellect  and  a  contracted  character  ;  and  there 
will  be  something  both  in  the  manners  of  the  preacher, 
and  in  his  turn  of  thought,  that  shall  designate  him  as 
belonging  to  a  caste.     There  will  be  about  him,  not  the 


130 

illimitable  perfume  of  the  proper  anointing  of  his  profes- 
sion, shedding,  like  the  oil  of  Aaron,  a  delight  and  sacred- 
iiess  around  him  ;  but,  in  the  bad  sense  of  the  expression, 
a  professional  odor ;  and  through  his  narrow  peculiarities 
he  will  fall  into  that  great  quarry  from  which  the  humor- 
ist of  every  age  has  properly  drawn  his  materials.  Instead 
of  an  unconstrained  seriousness  and  tenderness,  which  is 
the  proper  attitude  of  the  soul  in  view  of  tlie  truths  of  the 
Gospel,  you  will  find  a  professional,  formal,  trundling 
gravity  that  always  moves  on  in  the  same  track,  and 
which  is  to  character  what  a  tone  is  to  speaking.  Instead 
of  the  free  thoughts  that  embrace  man  and  nature  in  all 
their  relations,  and  sweep  the  circuit  of  the  universe, 
gathering  at  every  flight  fresh  incense  for  the  altar  of  God, 
you  will  find  his  spirit  caged  within  the  bars  of  a  techni- 
cal system.  It  is  thus  that  the  malignity  of  passion,  and 
the  antipathy  of  taste,  have  been  needlessly  arrayed 
against  the  Gospel ;  for  when  properly  studied,  it  is 
directly  fitted  to  destroy  every  feature  like  those  above 
indicated,  and  not  the  broad  science  of  legislation  itself 
has  a  tendency  so  strong  to  liberalize  the  mind. 

How  then  shall  the  Gospel  be  studied  so  as  most  fully 
to  liberalize  the  mmd,  and  to  fit  the  pulpit  to  stand,  as  it 
should,  far  more  than  at  present,  as  the  great  educator  of 
a  Christian  community,  and  the  guardian  of  its  dearest 
temporal  as  well  as  immortal  interests  ?  I  reply,  that  in 
order  to  this,  the  Gospel  must  be  studied.  Firsts  As  a 
science,  connected  in  its  general  spirit  with  other  sciences  ; 
and.  Secondly,  In  the  simplicity  of  its  plan,  and  the  varie- 
ty of  its  adaptations  to  the  works  of  God  and  the  different 
conditions  of  individual  and  social  man. 

I.  When  I  speak  of  the  connection  of  Christianity  in  its 
general  spirit  with  other  sciences,  I  have  no  reference  to 
that  merely  accidental  and  external  connection  which  has 


151 

been  occasionally  a  topic  of  deep  interest  since  tlie  time 
of  Galileo.  At  intervals  within  the  last  two  or  three 
hundred  years  there  has  appeared  some  new  science  or 
discovery  shooting  athwart  the  religious  horizon,  which 
has  seemed  to  the  timid  religionist  hke  the  comet  of  old, 
not  a  part  of  our  system,  but  sent  for  its  destruction.  For 
a  time  he  has  watched  its  progress  with  breathless  appre- 
hension, till  it  has  perhaps  seemed  to  pass  out  of  sight 
into  the  darkness  of  infidelity ;  while  there  has  been 
heard  rising  on  every  side  demoniac  exultation.  Then  it  is 
that  he  has  reposed  himself  upon  that  faith  which  he  alone 
knows  who  does  the  will  of  God  ;  and  after  resting  awhile 
in  that  position,  has  been  surprised  to  see  the  same  erratic 
star  circlijig  back,  and  coming  in  to  do  homage  to  revela- 
tion. Thus  has  it  ever  been,  thus  will  it  ever  be ;  and 
the  duty  of  the  preacher  in  regard  to  this  department  is, 
to  keep  himself  informed  of  the  facts,  to  promote  investi- 
gation by  all  the  means  in  his  power,  and  not  to  be  soon 
troubled  in  his  mind  as  though  every  eastern  forgery  had 
the  evidence  of  holy  writ,  or  as  though  the  theories  of 
all  geologists  were  as  solid  as  their  rocks. 

It  is  not  in  this  loose  connection  with  other  sciences 
that  the  Gospel  is  to  be  studied,  if  we  would  have  it  ex- 
pand the  intellect ;  but  as  itself  a  science,  and  connected 
in  spirit  with  other  sciences.  There  are  those,  I  am 
aware,  who  object  to  science  altogether  as  connected  with 
religion,  and  have  even  an  antipathy  to  the  name. 
Nothing,  they  say,  has  done  so  much  harm  as  false  sys- 
tems ;  and  that  system-making  lias  distorted  the  Bible, 
and  eaten  out  the  piety  of  the  ministry.  But  there  is  a 
vast  difference,  as  the  student  of  nature  has  at  last  dis- 
covered, between  making  systems,  and,  in  the  exercise  of 
the  child-like  teifiper  of  a  le^xnex^  finding  them  already 
made  by  the  hand  of  God.  And  we  would  here  inquire, 
whether  the  Bible,  if  it  be  from  God,  must  not,  as  well  as 
nature,   be  adapted  to  the  intellect  of  man  ;■  and   if  so, 


152 

whether  it  must  not  furnish  materials  for  scientific  inves- 
tigation. I  do  not  believe  that  the  power  of  abstraction 
and  generalization,  by  which  he  is  capable  of  constructing 
the  natural  sciences,  is  the  highest  power  of  man — the 
characteristic  distinction  between  him  and  the  brutes: 
but  no  one  can  suppose  that  the  Bible  is  from  God,  and 
yet  that  it  does  not  give  this  power  scope. 

What  then  is  that  by  which  nature  is  adapted  to  the 
intellect  of  man,  and  by  which  the  works  of  God  become 
to  him  a  school  so  admirable  ?  It  is  not  solely  the  gran- 
deur and  strikiug  nature  of  the  phenomena  and  facts  pre- 
sented. Man  does  not  become  a  philosopher  till  he  ceases 
from  the  admiration  of  the  first  impression.  But  it  is 
because  those  phenomena  and  facts  are  linked  together  by 
the  relations  of  resemblance  and  analogy,  sometimes  in- 
deed obvious  to  mere  inspection,  but  often,  as  if  for  the 
purpose  of  inviting  study,  so  unobtrusive  and  recondite, 
as  to  elude  the  observation  of  ages.  What  could  the 
mind  do  with  a  chaos  of  unconnected  facts,  however  im- 
posing? What  purpose  of  elevation,  or  of  discipline, 
could  they  answer?  It  is  because  the  universe  is  con- 
structed into  a  system^  manifesting  unity  in  the  midst  of 
variety,  that  it  is  adapted  to  the  intellect  of  man.  It  is 
through  the  study  of  the  universe  in  its  different  depart- 
ments, as  thus  constructed^  that  God  seems  to  have  in- 
tended that  we  should  gain  our  intellectual  training,  and 
it  is  accordingly  with  the  perception  of  this,  that  he  has 
connected  the  highest  intellectual  gratification.  There  is, 
indeed,  a  beauty  spread  over  the  surface  of  nature  which 
addresses  itself  to  the  eye,  and  which  almost  seems  to  be 
in  immediate  relation  with  the  sense,  without  the  inter- 
vention of  intellect ;  but  there  is  also  a  scientific  beauty. 
This  results,  in  our  examination  of  oile  complex  struc- 
ture, from  our  perception  of  the  relation  of  its  parts;  in 
our  examination  of  the  different  individuals  of  a  species, 
from  the  relation  of  resemblance  ;  and  in  our  comparison 


153 

of  species  with  species,  from  the  relation  of  analogy, 
which  is  only  the  perception  of  unity  in  the  midst  of  va- 
riety on  a  wider  scale.  It  is  this  in  the  works  of  God, 
that  constitutes  their  order  and  harmony.  It  is  in  the 
perception  of  this,  in  the  resumption  of  system  after  sys- 
tem into  a  higher  unity  till  we  arrive  at  the  one  infinite 
God,  that  the  silent  music  of  the  universe,  that  falls  only 
on  the  ear  of  the  spirit,  consists.  It  is  this  music  that 
finds  its  appropriate  utterance  only  through  man,  who  is 
ordained  the  priest  of  the  works  of  God  to  gather  up  and 
transmit  intelligently  that  quiet  but  intense  expression  of 
praise,  which  seems  to  wait  upon  the  damb  lips  of  nature  to 
be  caught  up  by  hhn  and  find  utterance  in  the  ascription, 
"  O  Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy  works,  in  wisdom  hast 
thou  made  them  all!  "  ^'  Wonderful  in  counsel,  excellent 
in  working ! " 

Now  it  is  preeisely  this  perception  of  unity,  which  is 
thus  the  joy  of  the  spirit,  after  which  it  so  labors  in  na- 
ture, and  which  it  finds  in  the  uniform  course  of  God's 
procedure  in  the  material  world,  that  we  seek  for  in  his 
mode  of  dealing  with  his  intelligent  and  moral  creatures. 
It  is  obvious  that  this  perception  would  not  only  give  us 
a  higher  delight  than  that  just  spoken  of,  but^lso  exert  an 
influence  in  the  same  way  in  enlarging  the  mind ;  first,  by 
freeing  it  from  superstition  ;  and  secondly,  by  giving  it  a 
knowledge  and  control  of  the  future. 

First ;  religious  superstitions  clearly  spring  from  igno- 
rance of  God's  moral  laws,  just  as  natural  superstitions,  if 
I  may  so  designate  them,  spring  from  ignorance  of  his 
natural  laws,  and  they  must  be  removed  in  the  same  way. 
In  what,  for  example,  do  the  superstitions  of  medicine 
consist,  but  in  observances,  which,  according  to  the  laws 
of  the  physical  system,  have  no  tendency  to  heal  the 
disease,  and  it  may  be  make  it  worse  ?  And  in  what  do 
the  superstitions  of  religion  consist,  but  in  observances, 
which,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  moral  system,  have 
20 


154 

no  tendency  to  remove  the  moral  evil,  but  it  may  be 
quicken  malignity,  or  foster  pride,  or  inflame  lust  ?  Super- 
stition generally  in  regard  to  natural  phenomena  results 
from  the  supposition  that  they  occur  capriciously  without 
fixed  antecedents,  instead  of  supposing  that  they  take 
place  according  to  invariable  laws.  It  is  the  knowledge 
of  these  laws  that  has  frightened  necromancy  and  witch- 
craft from  the  enlightened  parts  of  the  earth,  that  has  dis- 
robed the  stars  of  their  dominion  over  human  destiny,  and 
struck  down  the  superstition  that  sat  astride  the  comet  as 
it  came  careering  up  out  of  the  depths  of  infinite  space, 
''  with  fear  of  change  perplexing  monarchs ; "  and  it  is 
evident  that  nothing  but  a  similar  knowledge  of  moral 
laws  can  put  an  end  to  the  infinitely  diversified  religious 
superstitions. 

Again  ;  it  is  only  through  scientific  knowledge  that  we 
can  know  or  control  the  future  in  physics.  It  is  by  this 
alone,  that  we  can  predict  the  position,  centuries  hence, 
of  a  heavenly  body,  and  tell  when  it  shall  enter  and  when 
emerge  from  an  eclipse :  and  is  there  no  law,  discovered 
or  revealed,  by  which  we  can  ascertain  the  position  of 
the  human  spirit  ages  to  come,  when  that  virtue  which 
now  ''  wades  in  dim  eclipse"  shall  come  forth  fair  as  the 
moon  and  clear  as  the  sun?  Are  there  no  conditions, 
fixed  and  invariable,  settled  as  the  foundations  of  heaven, 
which  being  complied  with,  the  human  spirit  is  safe, 
which  being  neglected,  it  is  lost  ?  and  is  it  not  possible  to 
elevate  these  above  the  superstitions  of  the  age  and  the 
follies  of  speculation,  and  to  place  them  in  religion  where 
the  system  of  Newton  stands  in  science?  It  is  evident 
that  such  a  system  would  encourage  the  hope  of  eternal 
life  only  on  condition  of  a  specified  character  ;  that  it 
would  always  hold  up  to  all  alike  the  same  high  and  holy 
standard,  and  would  furnish  as  little  hope  to  the  workers 
of  iniijuity  that  they  could  unbar  the  gates  of  salvation, 
as  that  they  could  turn  back   the  falling  rock.     It  would 


155 

show  men  that  as  they  must  conform  themselves  to  the 
laws  of  nature  in  order  to  be  benefited  by  them,  so  in  re- 
ligion the  change  is,  by  the  help  of  God,  to  be  wrought 
in  them,  and  not  to  be  made  in  any  accommodation  to 
them  of  the  character  of  God,  or  the  immutable  laws  of 
his  moral  kingdom.  This  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  nar- 
rowness, and  superstition,  and  formality,  and  evasion  in 
religion,  and  brings  it  home  to  man's  moral  nature  as  a 
matter  of  awful  import,  and  honors  before  the  universe 
the  moral  law  as  guarded  by  all  the  energies  of  the  im- 
mutable God.  The  moral  laws  of  God  are  the  expression 
of  his  character ;  like  those  of  nature  they  are  simple  in 
their  principle,  comprehensible  by  a  child,  but  universal 
in  their  application,  efficient  in  their  action,  and  mighty 
and  diversified  in  their  results.  Religion,  considered  with 
reference  to  the  intellect,  is  nothing  but  an  expression  of 
these  laws.  History,  philology,  interpretation,  criticism, 
are  mainly  useful  in  bringing  them  to  light.  The  study 
of  these  laws  is  the  study  of  theology  as  a  practical 
science,  and  nothing  else  is.  In  the  Old  Testament  we 
study  them  absolutely,  and  we  find  in  the  New  only  a 
mighty  expedient  that,  while  pardon  is  dispensed,  they 
may  still  bear  sway. 

It  is  indeed  a  remarkable  fact,  and  one  which  com- 
mends to  our  special  attention  the  feature  of  the  Gospel 
now  contemplated,  that  in  an  age  when  science  as  con- 
nected with  general  laws  was  unknown,  the  Gospel  should 
have  been  based  upon  that  very  feature  in  the  character 
of  God,  his  determined  adherence  to  law,  which  lies  at 
the  foundation  of  natural  science.  The  pardon  of  the 
Gospel  is  not  a  setting  aside  of  the  law,  nor  a  repeal  of 
its  penalty ;  but  it  is  granted  in  compliance  with  a  law 
higher  and  more  general  than  that  which  was  broken.  It 
is,  for  the  purposes  of  this  illustration,  as  if  the  law  of 
the  periodical  time  of  the  earth  should  be  infringed,  and 
its  year  prolonged  a  month,  by  the  approach  of  a  new 


156 

planet.  Were  such  an  infringement  to  take  place  without 
an  apparent  and  adequate  reason,  it  would  unsettle  the 
foundations  of  astronomy.  But  when  the  planet  is  seen 
to  hold  such  a  position  as  it  ought  in  order  to  retard  the 
earth,  and  the  less  general  law  of  its  time  of  revolution 
gives  way  to  the  more  general  one  of  gravitation,  the 
foundations  of  astronomy  remain  untouched,  and  its  fun- 
damental law  is  confirmed  and  honored.  Now  in  the  eyes 
of  all  heaven  Christ  has  done  just  that  in  relation  to  the 
pardon  of  sinners,  which,  in  the  case  supposed,  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  new  body  would  do  in  the  eyes  of  an 
astronomer — has  furnished  a  reason  why  that  pardon 
should  be  granted,  a  principle  on  which  it  takes  place,  so 
that  the  law  remains  in  all  its  integrity,  and  the  sword  of 
justice  in  the  hand  of  the  eternal  God  glitters  as  brightly 
as  ever,  or  rather  since  the  death  of  Christ,  it  seems  to 
cast  an  intenser  light.  If  then  the  moral  kingdom  of 
God  is  thus,  in  all  its  departments,  governed  by  general 
laws,  shall  it  be  less  salutary  and  ennobling  to  the  mind 
to  understand  these,  than  to  understand  the  general  laws 
of  the  physical  universe,  the  discovery  and  comprehension 
of  which  has  always  been  esteemed  a  mark  of  an  en- 
larged mind,  and  is  often  among  the  highest  achievements 
of  genius  ? 

But  we  should  wrong  the  tendency  of  the  Gospel  to 
liberalize  the  mind,  if  we  were  to  represent  it  as  adapted 
to  give  us  command  only  over  a  system  of  truth,  running 
parallel  indeed  with  others  but  unconnected  with  them. 
The  great  systems  of  physical  and  moral  truth  are  not 
unconnected ;  and  were  it  only  for  the  purposes  of  illus- 
tration, it  would  behoove  the  preacher  to  be  familiar  with 
the  fields  of  science.  They  have  indeed  been  studied  as 
separate,  just  as  the  arterial  and  venous  systems  in  the 
human  body  were  once  studied  as  separate;  but  it  will 
yet  be  seen  that  it  is  in  the  moral  portion  of  this  universe 
that  the   pulse  of  its   life  throbs,  and  that  it  is   from   its 


157 

connection  with  this  that  the  rest  derives  its  vitahty  and 
importance.  In  the  earher  stages  of  society  the  sciences, 
hke  the  different  tribes  of  men,  were  supposed  to  be  rivals 
of  each  other ;  but  as  it  has  been  found  that  there  is  a 
brotherhood  of  man  over  the  whole  earth,  and  that  the 
prosperity  of  one  nation  is  the  best  means  of  securing  that 
of  the  rest,  so  it  has  been  found  that  the  sciences  are  all 
of  one  family,  and  that  the  advancement  of  one  has  an 
immediate  effect  upon  that  of  others ;  and  this  has  pro- 
moted a  spirit  of  liberality  and  co-operation  among  scien- 
tific men.  Into  this  circle  and  brotherhood,  however,  it 
seems  not  to  have  been  thought  that  religion  had  a  claim 
to  enter.  It  has  been  supposed  to  have  its  own  place,  and 
its  own  claims,  and  its  own  modes  of  investigation.  But 
every  thing  now  seems  to  indicate  that  there  is  an  im- 
mense intellectual  and  moral  universe,  corresponding  in 
extent  and  variety  to  the  physical  universe,  and  that  these 
are  linked  together  by  numberless  relations  so  as  to  form 
but  one  whole.  That  there  must  be  this  unity  thought- 
ful men  have  long  been  satisfied,  and  the  present  is  a  pe- 
riod of  eager  expectation  for  its  more  full  recognition.  It 
is  like  that  period  in  the  history  of  electricity,  when  phi- 
losophers were  watching  for  the  link  that  should  bind  the 
electrical  phenomena  of  the  earth  and  the  heavens  to- 
gether. Or  like  that  period  which  now  again  recurs  in 
the  history  of  the  same  science  in  its  connection  with 
magnetism  and  light  and  caloric  ;  when  the  phenomena 
of  all  of  them  seem  to  indicate  some  central  point  of  ra- 
diation, by  their  connection  with  which  they  may  be 
severally  embraced  under  the  same  general  law,  and  be 
set  as  a  single  gem  in  the  diadem  of  science.  It  is  to  this 
point  that  the  eyes  of  the  student  are  now  turned.  This 
is  the  next  step  to  be  taken.  Rising  from  different  and 
distant  sources,  science  and  religion  are  like  two  mighty 
rivers,  sometimes  seeming  to  run  in  opposite  directions, 
but  yet  tending  to  empty  their  waters  at  the  same  pointy 


158 

into  the  same  ocean.  Already  are  they  seen  to  approach 
each  other ;  words  of  friendly  salutation  are  exchanged 
across  the  isthmus  which  yet  divides  them ;  and  on  the 
pennons  which  gleam  from  the  vessels  of  those  who  float 
upon  their  surface  are  inscribed  mottos  of  similar  import. 
On  the  one  I  see  it  written,  "  Great  and  marvellous  are 
thy  works,  Lord  God  Almighty;"  and  on  the  other, 
"  Just  and  true  are  thy  ways  thou  King  of  saints; "  and 
when  these  two  currents  shall  unite,  then  there  shall  go 
up  from  the  blended  multitude,  as  the  sound  of  many 
waters,  the  one  undivided  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb. 

Before  passing  to  another  branch  of  our  subject,  I  may 
remark,  that  besides  its  peculiar  tendency  to  enlarge  the 
mind,  from  the  broad  nature  of  the  subjects  with  which 
it  brings  it  in  connection,  the  study  of  Christianity  as  a 
science,  has,  of  course,  connected  with  it  the  three  im- 
portant advantages  belonging  to  all  scientific  knowledge. 
As  all  truth  is  consistent  with  itself,  it  gives  us,  first,  a 
very  important  advantage  in  any  subsequent  investigation 
over  mere  theory  or  a  promiscuous  collection  of  facts,  by 
putting  into  our  hands  the  clue  to  any  difiiculty  which 
the  human  powers  are  capable  of  surmounting  ;  secondly, 
it  assists  the  memory  by  furnishing  an  arrangement  and 
classification  that  is  according  to  nature,  and  therefore 
simple  and  easy ;  and,  thirdly,  it  gives  us  a  command  of 
our  knowledge  in  its  just  proportions,  and  enables  us  to 
present  it  in  its  harmony. 

IL  But  I  remark  again,  if  the  ministry  would  so  study 
the  Gospel  as  to  liberalize  their  minds,  and  fit  them  to 
become  the  educators  of  the  community  at  the  present 
day,  they  must  not  only  study  it  as  a  science,  but  also  in 
that  simplicity  of  structure  and  variety  of  adaptation 
which  it  might  be  expected  to  possess  as  coming  from 
God.  In  this  point  of  view  the  Gospel  stands  unrivalled, 
and  is  far  too  little  studied,  far  too  seldom  presented.     It 


159 

is  perhaps  impossible  that  any  system  should  be  more 
severely  tried  in  this  way  than  the  Gospel  has  been,  if 
we  consider  the  test  to  which  it  was  put  at  its  commence- 
ment, in  contrast  with  that  to  which  it  is  now  exposed. 

Christianity,  at  its  commencement,  recognized  the 
Jewish  religion  as  from  God  ;  and  it  was  a  ground  of 
its  rejection  by  the  Jews,  that  it  destroyed  their  law  or 
ritual.  Hence  it  became  necessary — and  this  was  the 
main  object  of  the  apostle  in  the  epistle  to  the  Hebrews — 
to  show  that  it  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  Jewish 
religion  when  rightly  understood,  and  was,  indeed,  neces- 
sary to  its  completion.  Did  the  Jews  insist  that  Chris- 
tianity had  no  priesthood  ?  The  apostle  affirms  that  it  had 
such  a  high-priest  as  became  us,  ''  who  is  holy,  harmless, 
undefiled,  separate  from  sinners,  and  made  higher  than  the 
heavens."  Did  the  Jews  affirm  that  Christianity  had  no 
tabernacle  ?  The  apostle  asserts  that  Christ  was  the  min- 
ister "  of  the  true  tabernacle,  which  the  Lord  pitched,  and 
not  man ;  "  not  indeed  that  he  had  ''  entered  into  the  holy 
places  made  with  hands,  which  were  the  figures  of  the 
true,  but  into  heaven  itself"  Was  it  objected  that  Chris- 
tianity had  no  altar  and  no  sacrifice  ?  The  apostle  affirms 
that  "  now,  once  in  the  end  of  the  world,"  that  is,  of  the 
Jewish  dispensation,  <'  Christ  had  appeared  to  put  away 
sin  by  the  sacrifice  of  himself."  Thus  did  the  apostle 
show  the  correspondence  of  the  Christian  with  the  Jew- 
ish religion,  or  rather  that  the  Jewish  religion,  having 
dropped  its  swaddling  clothes  of  rites  and  ceremonies, 
was  in  its  spirit  and  actuating  principles  identical 
with  Christianity.  The  same  correspondence  was  either 
attempted  to  be  shown,  or  taken  for  granted,  by  all 
the  New  Testament  writers.  But  when  we  remember 
that  Christianity  is  a  purely  spiritual  religion,  encumbered 
by  no  forms,  and  that  the  Jewish  was  apparently  the  most 
technical  and  artificial  of  all  systems  ;  when  we  remember 
that  there  was  not  only  to  be  preserved  a  correspondence 


160 

with  the  types  and  ceremonies,  but  also  that  there  was  to 
be  the  fulhlment  of  a  large  number  of  prophecies,  we  may 
see  the  impossibility  that  any  human  art  should  construct 
a  system  so  identical  in  its  principles,  and  yet  so  diverse 
in  its  manifestations.  Nor,  indeed,  could  there  have  been 
any  motive  to  induce  such  an  attempt  ;  for  besides  its 
inherent  difficulty,  Christianity  so  far  dropped  all  the 
peculiarities  of  the  Jews  as  to  forfeit  every  hope  of  benefit 
from  their  strong  exclusive  feelings,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  came  before  other  nations  subject  to  all  the  odium 
which  it  could  not  fail  to  excite  as  based  on  the  Jewish 
religion.  We  accordingly  find  that,  in  point  of  fact,  it 
was  equally  opposed  by  Jews  and  Gentiles.  But  such 
was  the  system — exclusive,  typical,  ceremonial,  external, 
magnificent,  addressed  to  the  senses — between  which 
and  Christianity,  simple,  universal,  spiritual,  without  form 
or  pomp,  it  was  necessary  to  show  a  correspondence  ;  and 
this  the  apostle  Paul,  and  the  New  Testament  writers 
generally,  did  show. 

How  different  the  test  to  which  Christianity  is  now 
put !  The  works  of  God  are  acknowledged  to  be  from 
him,  and,  as  now  understood,  how  simple  in  their  laws, 
how  complex  in  their  relations,  how  infinite  in  their 
extent !  And  can  the  same  system,  which  so  perfect- 
ly corresponded  with  the  narrow  system  of  the  Jews, 
correspond  equally  with  the  infinite  and  unrestricted 
system  and  relations  of  God's  works  ?  There  are 
those  now,  and  not  a  few,  who  reject  or  would  modify 
Christianity  on  the  ground  of  its  want  of  conformity  to 
the  works  of  God,  just  as  the  Jews  rejected  or  wished 
to  modify  it  on  the  ground  of  its  want  of  conformity 
to  the  old  dispensation ;  and  it  behooves  the  ministers 
of  Christ  to  do  that  now,  in  relation  to  these  modern 
Jews,  which  the  apostle  did  for  those  of  old.  Doubtless 
he  might  have  known  and  proclaimed  enough  of  Chris- 
tianity for  salvation,  without  studying  its  relations  to  a 


161 

system  that  was  old  and  ready  to  vanish  away  ;  and  on  the 
narrow  grounds  of  study  which  some  men  advocate,  he 
might  have  excused  himself  from  writing  the  epistle  to 
the  Hebrews.  And  so  may  we,  perhaps,  proclaim  truth 
enough  for  the  salvation  of  men,  that  is,  by  which  they 
might  be  saved,  without  the  kind  of  investigation  of 
which  I  speak  in  this  discourse  ;  but  we  are  to  remember 
that  we  are  debtors  to  the  learned  as  well  as  to  the 
unlearned,  to  the  wise  as  well  as  to  the  unwise,  and  we 
are  not  ashamed  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ  before  them. 
The  present  test  is  perhaps  even  more  severe  than  the 
former,  for  we  may  rest  assured  that  nothing  that  is  arbi- 
trary, or  capricious,  or  childish,  or  out  of  keeping  with 
the  present  enlarged  state  of  knowledge  respecting  the 
relations  and  unlimited  extent  of  the  physical  universe, 
can  stand.  Is  it  then  possible  that  a  religion  once  em- 
bosomed in  the  ceremonies  of  an  ignorant  and  barbarous 
people,  which  received  its  expansion  and  completion  in 
an  age  of  the  greatest  ignorance  in  regard  to  physical 
science,  should  yet  harmonize,  in  its  disclosures  respecting 
God  and  his  government,  with  those  enlarged  conceptions 
of  his  nature  and  kingdom  which  we  now  possess? 
Could  Newton  step  from  the  study  of  the  heavens  to  the 
study  of  the  Bible,  and  feel  that  he  made  no  descent  ?  It 
is  even  so.  The  God  whom  the  Bible  discloses,  and  the 
moral  system  which  it  reveals,  lose  nothing  when  com- 
pared with  the  extent  of  nature,  or  with  the  simplicity 
and  majesty  of  her  laws ;  they  seem  mther  worthy  to  be 
enthroned  upon,  and  to  preside  over,  such  an  amazing  do- 
main. The  material  universe,  if  not  infinite,  is  indefinite 
in  extent.  We  see  in  the  misty  spot  which,  in  a  serene 
evening,  scarce  discolors  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky,  a  distant 
milky  way,  like  that  which  encircles  our  heavens  and  in 
a  small  projection  of  which  our  sun  is  situated.  We  see 
such  milky  ways  strown  in  profusion  over  the  heavens, 
each  containing  more  suns  than  we  can  number,  and  all 
21 


162 

these,  with  their  subordinate  systems,  we  see  bound  to- 
gether by  a  law  which  is  as  efficient  as  it  is  simple  and 
unchangeable.  "  They  stand  up  together,  not  one  fail- 
eth ! "  But  long  before  this  system  was  discovered,  there 
was  made  known,  in  the  Bible,  a  moral  system  in  entire 
correspondence  with  it.  We  see  at  the  head  of  it,  and 
presiding  in  high  authority  over  the  whole,  one  infinite 
and  "only  wise  God,"  "the  King  eternal,  immortal, 
invisible."  Of  the  systems  above  us,  angelic  and  seraphic, 
we  know  little ;  but  we  see  one  law,  simple,  efficient,  and 
comprehensive  as  that  of  gravitation — the  law  of  love — 
extending  its  sway  over  the  whole  of  God's  dominions, 
living  where  he  lives,  embracing  every  moral  movement 
in  its  universal  authority,  and  producing  the  same  har- 
mony, where  it  is  obeyed,  as  we  observe  in  the  movements 
of  nature.  We  here  find  none  of  the  puerilities  that 
dwarf  every  other  system.  The  sanctions  of  the  law, 
the  moral  attributes  revealed,  the  destinies  involved,  the 
prospects  opened, — all  take  hold  on  infinity,  and  are  in 
perfect  keeping  with  the  solemn  emotions  excited  by 
dwelling  upon  the  illimitable  works  of  God.  "  Deep 
calleth  unto  deep." 

I  have  dwelt  thus  long  upon  these  extreme  and  con- 
trasted cases,  because  they  illustrate,  very  fully,  the  feature 
of  the  Gospel  of  which  we  are  now  speaking — its  won- 
derful adaptation  to  every  thing  connected  with  it  which 
has  come  from  God.  But  there  are  other  adaptations 
more  practical  and  not  less  interesting,  which  may  not  be 
wholly  passed  over  on  this  occasion;  for  it  is  of  the  last 
importance  that  the  relation  of  Christianity  to  the  moral, 
social,  and  political  condition  of  society,  should  not  only 
be  asserted,  but  should  be  made  to  appear,  and  should  be 
comprehended  by  the  community.  A  new  era  in  the  his- 
tory of  Christianity  has  commenced  ;  it  is  divorced  from 
all  connection  with  the  law  of  the  land,  so  far  as  provision 


163 

for  its  support  is  concerned,  and  must  hereafter  rely  upon 
itself  alone.  How  then  is  Christianity — not  preaching, 
considered  as  an  exhibition  or  as  an  intellectual  treat, 
which  the  wealthy  can  atford  to  pay  for,  but  genuine 
Christianity — to  maintain  its  hold  upon  the  respect  and 
affections  of  the  great  body  of  thinking  men  who  are  not 
religious  ?  How  shall  we  bring  the  infidel  even,  as  many 
are  brought,  (probably  all  of  us  have  known  instances  of 
this,)  to  assist  in  supporting  its  institutions,  and  to  prefer 
those  schools  for  his  children  where  religious  instruction 
is  given ;  thus  arresting,  if  we  cannot  cure,  the  gangrene 
of  society  ?  This  result  must  be  produced  in  part,  I  say 
not  wholly,  for  I  do  not  believe  it — there  is  in  Christianity 
a  secret  power  to  awe  and  restrain  men  apart  from  all  pru- 
dential considerations— but  it  must  be  produced  in  no 
small  degree,  by  showing  that  Christianity  is  the  salt  and 
the  leaven  of  society ;  the  salt  in  its  effects,  the  leaven 
in  its  mode  of  operation.  It  must  be  done  by  turning 
men  off  from  their  idolatry  of  political  institutions,  as 
having  an  efficacy  to  regenerate  society  or  to  keep  it  pure, 
and  by  showing  them  that  republican  drunkenness,  and 
profaneness,  and  gambling,  and  licentiousness,  and  dishon- 
esty, are  as  bad  as  monarchical  or  aristocratic  drunkenness 
and  profaneness,  and  will  as  surely  produce  their  bitter 
results.  It  must  be  done  by  showing  that  as  civil  society 
is  an  institution  of  God,  its  welfare  must  depend  on  obe- 
dience to  his  laws,  natural  and  moral ;  that  the  ends  of 
society  can  be  attained  only  where  the  domestic  and 
family  relations  are  rightly  constituted,  and  properly  sus- 
tained ;  that  this  can  be  done  only  where  there  is  a  pure 
state  of  morals ;  and  that  a  pure  state  of  morals  nev^er  yet 
existed,  and  never  will  exist,  where  there  is  not  the  fear 
of  God,  and  where  religion  is  dishonored. 

In  fact  Christianity  stands,  in  regard  to  the  solution  of 
many  questions  connected  with  the  welfare  of  society,  in 
the  same  relation  to  moral  philosophy,  and  political  econo- 


164 

my,  and  the  science  of  politics,  as  algebra  does  to  arith- 
metic. It  is  the  more  comprehensive  science,  and  by 
means  of  it  problems  may  be  solved  for  the  solution  of 
which  the  mere  politician  has  no  elements.  The  sciences 
which  teach  men  the  rules  of  well-being,  whether  as  indi- 
viduals or  as  communities,  are,  so  far  as  they  are  sound, 
but  experience  and  the "  structure  of  organized  nature, 
echoing  back  the  teachings  of  the  Bible.  What  principle 
of  Christian  ethics  does  moral  philosophy  now  presume 
to  call  in  question  ?  Infidels  themselves  being  judges,  the 
New  Testament  morality  is  the  most  perfect  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  What  are  the  general  principles  of  politi- 
cal economy,  but  an  imperfect  application  to  the  inter- 
course of  trading  communities  of  those  rules  of  good 
neighborhood  and  of  that  spirit  of  kindness  which  Chris- 
tianity inculcates  ?  What  is  the  larger  part  of  political 
science,  but  a  laborious  and  imperfect  mode  of  realizing 
those  results  in  society  which  would  flow  spontaneously 
from  the  universal  prevalence  of  Christian  morals  and  of 
the  Christian  spirit  ? 

Does  the  Gospel  command  us  to  be  temperate?  Science, 
some  eighteen  hundred  years  afterwards,  discovers  that 
temperance  alone  is  in  accordance  with  our  constitution, 
and  political  economy  reckons  up  the  loss  of  labor  and  of 
wealth  resulting  from  intemperance ;  and  then,  after  an 
vmtold  amount  of  suffering,  what  do  they  do  but  echo 
back  the  injunction  of  the  Bible,  "  add  to  knowledge 
temperance"?  In  regard  to  every  course  that  would  lead 
men  to  unhappiness,  the  Bible  has  stood,  from  the  begin- 
ning, at  the  "entrance  of  the  paths,"  and  uttered  its 
warning  cry.  The  nations  have  not  heard  it,  but  have 
rushed  by,  and  rushed  on,  till  they  have  reaped  the  fruit 
of  their  own  devices,  in  the  corruption  of  morals,  in  the 
confusion  of  society  through  oppression  and  misrule,  in 
disease  and  death ;  and  then  philosophy  has  condescended 
to  discover  these  evils,  and,  if  it  has  done  any  thing  for  the 


165 

permanent  relief  of  society,  has  brought  it  back  to  the 
letter  or  spirit  of  the  Bible.  The  Bible  is  not  a  treatise  of 
moral  philosophy,  or  of  political  economy,  or  a  manual  of 
politics,  nor  is  it  to  be  preached  as  any  of  these.  It  is  a 
book,  the  object  of  which  is  to  fit  men  to  become  freemen, 
in  the  great  kingdom  of  God,  with  that  liberty  wherewith 
Christ  makes  them  free ;  but  in  doing  this  it  necessarily 
does  all  that  is  requisite  to  make  them  good  members  of 
an  earthly  community,  and  good  citizens  of  an  earthly 
government. 

Need  I  speak  further  of  the  adaptations  of  the  Gospel, 
to  commend  it  to  you  as  an  object  of  interesting  study  in 
this  point  of  view  ?  Were  it  necessary,  the  materials  are 
abundant  and  striking.  It  is  indeed,  in  this  respect,  like 
the  great  elements  of  nature — like  the  atmosphere  to 
which  I  have  already  indirectly  compared  it.  How  sim- 
ple is  this  fluid  in  its  structure  !  How  varied  and  indis- 
pensable in  its  uses  !  See  it  furnishing  the  breath  of  life, 
supporting  combustion,  conveying  sound,  reflecting  light, 
difl'using  odors,  giving  rain,  wafting  ships,  bearing  up 
birds  ;  and  see  the  Gospel  adapted  to  the  infancy  of  soci- 
ety and  to  its  highest  state  of  cultivation,  to  the  young, 
to  the  aged,  to  every  climate,  and  to  every  form  of  social 
organization.  See  it  expanding  the  intellect,  purifying 
the  afl'ections,  giving  life  and  peace  to  the  conscience, 
reforming  the  vicious,  elevating  the  lowly,  humbling  the 
proud,  comforting  the  afllicted,  giving  to  life  its  highest 
joys,  taking  from  death  its  sting. 

It  is,  then,  by  studying  the  Gospel  as  a  science,  con- 
nected in  its  spirit  Avith  other  sciences,  and  in  the  adapta- 
tions now  spoken  of,  that  its  ministers  will  acquire  true 
liberality  of  mind.  This  consists  in  seeing  the  extent  and 
connections  of  truth,  and  in  giving  every  thing  its  proper 
place.  It  is  opposed  to  bigotry  on  the  one  hand,  and  on 
the    other   to    that   fashionable   and    self-conceited    cant, 


166 

which  has  its  basis  in  a  want  of  discrimination,  and  in 
indilTerence  to  the  truth.  The  hberal  minded  political 
economist  is  he  who  has  extended  views,  and  sees  their 
connection  with  human  happiness,  and  who,  in  proportion 
as  his  views  become  clear,  values  and  abides  by  them. 
And  thus  it  is  in  religion.  True  liberality  does  not  con- 
sist in  any  compromise  of  the  truth,  in  any  lowering  of 
its  standard,  nor  in  any  insinuations  respecting  the  general 
fallibility  of  man,  and  the  impossibility  of  ascertaining  it. 
It  has  no  fellowship  with  that  estimate  of  the  Gospel  of 
truth,  which  regards  it  as  so  little  better  than  heathenism 
that  it  is  not  worth  the  cost  of  being  sent  to  those  who 
are  destitute  of  it.  Its  language  is,  "  Thanks  be  to  God 
for  his  unspeakable  gift."  The  man  of  a  truly  liberal,  that 
is,  of  a  comprehensive  and  discriminating  mind,  cares 
comparatively  little  when  he  sees  the  remoter  stones  in 
the  arch  of  truth  removed,  whereas  bigotry  regards  every 
stone  as  of  equal  importance  ;  but  when  he  sees  the  hand 
of  error  approaching  the  key-stone  of  that  arch,  and  that 
there  is  danger  that  it  will  pluck  it  away,  God  forbid  that  he 
should  be  indifferent.  Then  he  could  shriek  in  the  agony 
of  his  spirit,  and  if  need  be  can  come  forward  holding  up 
his  fettered  hand  and  saying,  "  For  the  hope  of  Israel  I 
am  bound  with  this  chain."  If  need  be  he  can  go  to  the 
stake.     There  is  truth  that  is  "  the  hope  of  Israel." 

Connected  with  this  mode  of  studying  Christianity, 
there  is  also  a  quiet  conviction  of  its  truth,  which  is  the 
most  happy  in  its  effects  upon  the  temper  and  influence  of 
him  who  has  it.  This  conviction  may,  I  know,  be  pro- 
duced in  other  modes  ;  but  true  science  being  an  expres- 
sion of  the  relations  which  subsist  among  the  works  of 
God,  it  is  evidently  impossible  that  any  man  should  invent 
a  system  of  truth  which  shall  be  analogous  to  it,  in  its 
severe  yet  beautiful  expression,  and  which  shall  at  the 
same  time  travel  on  and  adapt  itself  to  the  more  correct 
and  expanded  views  of  the  physical  universe  which  time 


167 

discloses  ;  and  when  we  see  Christianity  possessed  of  both 
these  requisites,  we  seem  in  all  our  studies  to  inhale  its 
truth  as  an  element  of  our  intellectual  life,  and  to  gain  a 
conviction  nearly  allied  in  strength  to  that  produced  by 
the  witness  within  ourselves,  of  which  the  Gospel  speaks. 
I  will  only  add,  as  appropriate  to  this  occasion,  that  this 
mode  of  studying  the  Gospel  has  an  intimate  connection 
with  pulpit  eloquence.  It  will  not  teach  us  to  be  graceful 
in  gesture,  or  to  ''  explode  the  vowels  ;  "  but  it  will  fur- 
nish, if  any  thing  can,  variety  of  materials,  and  wealth  of 
imagery,  and  the  power  of  adaptation  and  depth  of  feel- 
ing without  which  there  can  be  no  eloquence.  It  is  in 
vain  to  expect  that  eloquence  of  any  kind,  much  less 
pulpit  eloquence,  can  flourish,  and  shoot  high,  and  endure 
long,  without  depth  of  soil.  The  water  that  is  to  set  in 
motion  many  wheels  must  be  accumulated,  and  young 
men  need  not  be  afraid  of  letting  it  head  back,  before  they 
open  the  gate — they  will  have  need  of  the  whole  of  it. 
There  is  to  the  preacher  more  need  of  this  variety  of 
means  and  of  resources  than  to  any  other  man,  because, 
while  he  is  obliged  to  speak  more,  he  is  permitted  to  have 
before  him  but  a  single  ultimate  object.  It  is  the  great 
characteristic  of  pulpit  eloquence,  as  distinguished  from 
all  other,  that  it  has  but  a  single  object — to  make  men 
better.  That  which  moves  or  afl'ects  men  in  any  way,  or 
to  any  extent,  without  being  adapted  to  do  this,  may  be 
eloquence  in  the  pulpit,  but  it  is  not  pulpit  eloquence. 
When  the  true  messenger  of  God  touches  the  chords  of 
excitement,  it  is  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  only  as  a  pre- 
lude to  those  deeper  tones  which  he  intends  to  elicit  from 
reason  and  conscience  vibrating  at  the  touch  of  truth.  The 
preacher  does  not  come  before  his  fellow  men  to  seek 
their  admiration,  or  to  court  a  grin,  but  to  transact  solemn 
business  ;  and  he  who  has  a  vague  idea  of  pulpit  eloquence 
as  something  which  is  to  affect  an  audience  for  a  tem- 
porary purpose,  or  to  cause  an  excitement,  or  to  call  forth 


168 

admiration,  would  find  a  fitter  place  in  the  theatre  than  in 
the  sacred  desk.  It  is  to  the  one  point  of  making  men 
better  that  all  his  efforts  are  to  converge,  but  if,  in  doing 
this,  he  confines  himself  to  the  narrow  circle  of  technical 
or  polemic  theology,  as  it  is  often  taught,  together  with 
the  common  topics  of  exhortation,  he  will  necessarily- 
repeat  himself  over  and  over,  his  discourses  will  become 
narrow  and  dry,  and  he  will  lose  his  influence  over  many 
minds.  Instead  of  this,  he  should  remember  on  this  point 
the  spirit  of  the  apostle  Paul  when  he  said,  "If  by  any 
means  1  might  save  some;"  and  should  construct  and 
arrange  his  discourses  on  the  principle  on  which  I  have 
already  said  that  the  universe,  as  adapted  to  the  intellect  of 
man,  is  constructed  and  arranged — the  principle  of  unity 
in  the  midst  of  variety,  unity  of  purpose,  variety  of  means. 
Why,  not  even  the  grass  we  tread  on,  can  grow  from  the 
influence  of  a  single  element.  It  needs,  not  the  sunshine 
alone,  but  also  the  rain  and  the  breezes  ;  and  shall  the 
soul  of  man  be  expected  to  attain  its  full  expansion  by  a 
less  varied  and  complex  influence  ?  Acting  on  this  prin- 
ciple, he  is  to  address  the  imagination,  the  passions,  the 
understanding,  the  conscience  ;  he  is  to  preach  plain  ser- 
mons, metaphysical  sermons,  doctrinal  sermons,  practical 
sermons,  written  sermons,  extempore  sermons,  bringing 
out  of  his  treasures  things  new  and  old,  and  in  all,  holding 
fast  to  the  one  purpose,  of  saving  them  that  hear. 

Is  it  said  that  few  can  perform  all  this  ?  I  reply,  God 
is  not  a  hard  master  ;  he  will  not  require  of  you  that 
which  you  cannot  perform.  He  has  put  into  your  charge 
a  Gospel  which,  as  we  have  seen,  is  adapted  to  expand 
the  intellect  to  the  utmost,  and  to  call  into  action  all  the 
energies  of  the  soul.  Viewed  in  its  grand  characteristic 
of  blended  majesty  and  mercy,  in  its  connection  with  the 
best  interests  of  man  in  this  life  as  well  as  in  the  life  to 
come,  it  can  hardly  fail  to  call  forth  an  enlightened  zeal, 
which  shall  give  energy  to  every  eflfort,  and  cause  you  to 


169 

feel  that  in  offering  yourselves  soul  and  body  on  the  altar 
of  Christianity  you  are  but  doing  a  reasonable  service. 
It  is  this  full,  unreserved,  cheerful  consecration,  so  lament- 
ably rare  among  us,  that  is,  after  all,  the  great  secret  of 
usefulness  in  a  Gospel  minister ;  and  where  this  is,  it  will 
be  accepted  of  God,  '^  according  to  that  a  man  hath,  and 
not  according  to  that  he  hath  not." 


ADDRESS, 


DELIVERED  AT  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF   THE   AMERICAN  BIBLE  SOCIETY, 
May  14,  1840. 


Mr.  President, — I  have  been  requested  to  present  the 
following  resohit ion  :  ^^  Resolved,  That  the  duty  of  fur- 
nishing the  Scriptures  to  the  young  should  be  deeply  felt 
by  parents,  guardians,  and  the  conductors  of  schools." 
After  the  very  forcible  remarks  that  have  fallen  from  the 
Chair  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  unnecessary  to  say  any 
thing  more  respecting  it.  Still,  as  it  is  of  unusual  impor- 
tance at  the  present  time,  I  shall  hope  for  the  attention  of 
the  audience  to  some  further  remarks. 

If,  sir,  we  should  inquire  why  it  was  that  this  world 
was  made  the  theatre  of  redemption,  perhaps  one  reason 
would  be  found  in  the  position  of  man  at  the  very  lowest 
point  in  the  scale  of  rational  existence.  When  we  would 
measure  the  range  of  the  human  faculties,  we  first  look 
at  what  man  has  done  that  is  vast,  at  the  pyramids  and 
cathedrals  he  has  constructed ;  and  then  we  turn  to  the 
other  end  of  the  scale  and  see  him,  for  example,  engraving 
the  Lord's  prayer  upon  a  space  so  minute  as  to  require  a 
microscope  to  bring  it  out.  And  so  of  the  works  of  God. 
When  we  would  estimate  his  power  and  skill,  we  first 
look  at  the  heavens ;  we  point  our  telescope  to  the  milky 


171 

way,  and  see  its  misty  spots  disperse  into  stars ;  and  then 
we  turn  to  the  wing  of  the  insect;  to  the  smallest  micro- 
scopic animal,  whose  frame  is  yet,  like  ours,  a  harp  of  a 
thousand  strings.  And  so  it  may  be  in  the  moral  govern- 
ment of  God.  It  may  be  that  his  wisdom,  his  condescen- 
sion, his  justice,  his  mercy,  will  be  more  illustriously  dis- 
played as  they  are  seen  to  be  called  forth  by  the  least  act 
of  the  least  moral  agent,  as  it  is  seen  that  the  same  love 
that  controls  all  heaven,  can  be  engraved  by  the  finger  of 
God  upon  the  heart  of  a  child.  At  any  rate,  the  very 
fact  that  God  has  revealed  himself  to  the  comprehension 
of  man,  would  lead  me  to  hope  that  this  revelation  would 
be  adapted  to  the  mind  of  the  child ;  that  it  would  be 
like  the  light — something  provided  for  the  moral,  as  that 
is  for  the  natural  eye,  as  soon  as  it  opens. 

And  here,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  only  question  that 
admits  of  argument  under  this  resolution.  Is  the  Bible 
adapted  to  the  minds  of  children?  For  if  it  is,  then,  in 
the  language  of  the  resolution,  the  duty  of  furnishing 
them  with  it  must  be  deeply  felt. 

It  is  the  glory  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  one  evi- 
dence that  it  came  from  God,  that  it  is  adapted  to  every 
form  of  government  and  social  organization,  to  every 
climate,  and  to  every  variety  of  mental  and  moral  culti- 
vation. And  can  it  be  that  it  fails  of  being  adapted  to 
every  age  ?  It  is  true,  it  is  as  the  fire  and  the  hammer  to 
break  in  pieces  the  flinty  rocks  of  heathenism  and  infi- 
delity, but  then  it  also  "  distils  as  the  dew,  as  the  small 
rain  upon  the  tender  herb,  and  as  the  showers  upon  the 
grass." 

That  the  Bible  is  thus  adapted  to  the  minds  of  children 
is  evident,  because  it  is  not,  like  natural  religion,  a  mere 
set  of  inferences,  but  it  is  the  word  of  God,  that  is,  it  is  a 
verbal  and  a  direct  comnumication  as  from  a  pai'ent  to  a 
child.  It  has,  I  know,  been  thought  by  some  ^^a  thing 
incredible"  that  God  should  make  such  a  communication, 


172 

or  at  least  that  it  would  require  extraordinary  evidence  to 
substantiate  it.  Be  it  §o.  The  Bible  has  extraordinary- 
evidence.  Bat  to  me  it  seems  that  such  a  communication 
was  to  have  been  expected,  not  only  from  the  condition 
of  man,  but  from  his  very  nature  as  a  religious  being. 
The  simple  question  is.  Is  man  a  child  1  Is  he  capable 
of  intercourse  with  God  ?  If  so,  why  should  he  be  de- 
barred from  this  intercourse  ?  Has  God,  in  this  solitary 
instance,  created  a  capacity  without  providing  for  it  the 
means  of  gratification  ?  How  else  could  our  first  parents, 
even  before  they  sinned,  have  known  that  the  infinite 
Being  who  created  them,  wished  from  them,  or  would 
even  permit,  expressions  of  worship  ?  How  else  could  a 
probation  have  been  instituted  ?  And  when  sin  had  en- 
tered, how  else  could  the  race  have  known  the  great  facts 
of  redemption  and  the  forgiveness  of  sin,  of  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  dead  and  of  a  final  judgment  ?  The  whole 
history  of  the  race  shows  that  when  man  attempts  to  seek 
the  true  God,  if,  indeed  he  ever  does,  without  a  revelation, 
he  gropes  in  the  darkness,  and  is  ready  to  exclaim,  with 
Job,  "  O  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him."  But  if 
God  has  spoken  to  man  at  all,  he  has  spoken  to  him  as  a 
religious  being,  and  of  course  to  every  one  capable  of 
being  religious.  There  is  no  more  reason  why  a  child 
cannot  receive  in  a  trustful  spirit  the  simple  statement  of 
a  fact  made  by  God,  or  obey  a  plain  precept  given  by 
him,  than  there  is  why  he  cannot  trust  and  obey  his 
earthly  parent.  ''  My  son,"  says  God,  ''  give  me  thine 
heart."  When  ?  Certainly  as  soon  as  he  is  capable  of 
looking  up  to  heaven  and  saying,  "My  Father."  The 
Bible  reveals  God  in  his  parental  relation,  and  chiefly  re- 
quires of  us  obedience  and  trust. 

Bat  it  is  said  by  the  Roman  Catholics,  and  by  our  re- 
publican school  committees,  some  of  them  at  least,  that 
the  Bible  is  a  book  fall  of  mysteries  ;  that  it  has  given 
rise  to  disputes  and  sects  without  end  ;  and  therefore,  that 


173 

to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  a  child  would  rather  perplex  and 
confound  than  benefit  his  mind. 

Now  if  the  principle  of  this  objection  were  sound,  it 
would  justify  the  Catholics  in  withholding  the  Bible  from 
the  common  people.  But  it  is  not  sound,  for  the  Bible 
does  not  regard  man  solely  as  possessed  of  understanding, 
but  also,  and  chiefly,  as  susceptible  of  obligation,  as  hav- 
ing a  moral  nature,  and  its  truths  act  with  a  quickening 
power  upon  that  nature,  as  light  and  heat  do  upon  vege- 
tation. I  saw,  sir,  recently  a  little  plant  in  a  room  with 
but  one  window,  and  all  its  branches  grew  towards  the 
light.  It  could  not  analyze  light,  but  it  could  feel  it  ; 
and  so  can  the  conscience  of  a  child  feel  the  power  of  the 
great  precepts  and  doctrines  of  the  Bible.  But  if  it  be 
said  that  the  moral  nature  acts  only  through  the  under- 
standing, then  I  say  that  a  child  can  surely  see  that  it  is 
reasonable  for  him  to  obey  his  father  before  he  can  under- 
stand his  plans,  and  that  this  is  so  far  from  being  deroga- 
tory to  his  understanding,  that  it  is  often  the  best  and  the 
only  evidence  the  child  can  give  that  he  has  good  sense 
and  is  a  reasonable  child.  It  seems  to  me  that  our  rational 
nature  may  be  very  properly  employed  in  discovering  our 
relations  to  God  as  practical  beings  ;  and  how  very  reason- 
able it  is  that  such  creatures  as  we  should  trust  and  obey 
him  in  all  things !  This  brings  us  to  the  exercise  of  a 
filial  temper  towards  God,  and  makes  us  all  children,  little 
children,  yes,  sir,  very  little  children  before  the  infinite 
Father  of  all.  There  is  no  right-minded  philosopher, 
there  is  no  experienced  Christian,  who  does  not  feel  more 
like  a  child  as  he  knows  more  of  the  works  and  the  word 
of  God.  It  is  in  the  exercise  of  this  filial  temper  that  we 
know  the  Bible  to  be  true,  because  we  feel  it  to  be  true. 
He  that  doeth  his  will  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  and  he 
who  has  not  come  to  the  study  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
Bible  in  the  exercise  of  this  temper  knows  nothing  yet  as 
he  ought  to  know. 


174 

But,  sir,  I  would  gladly  know  why  those  who  are  so 
much  afraid  of  mysteries,  make  such  a  distinction  between 
the  Word  of  God  and  that  other  revelation  which  he  has 
made  of  himself  in  his  works.  Did  any  one  of  them 
ever  hesitate  to  show  his  child  a  granite  cliff,  lest  his  mind 
should  be  perplexed  by  the  theories  and  disputes  respect- 
ing the  mode  in  which  granite  was  raised  up  through  the 
strata  that  once  lay  above  it  ?  Did  he  ever  hesitate  to 
show  his  child  the  sun-rising  or  the  sun-setting,  because 
he  could  not  yet  understand  the  Copernican  system  ?  No, 
sir ;  they  know  that  the  works  of  God  are  of  other  uses 
to  the  spirit  of  man,  than  to  call  forth  his  intellect  in  the 
investigation  of  their  nature  and  laws.  They  awaken 
directly  the  emotions  of  beauty  and  sublimity.  There  is 
a  spirit  in  them  with  which  we  commune.  And  so  it  is 
with  the  Bible.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  understand  the 
truths  of  the  Bible  systematically.  I  would  not  disparage 
that.  Let  the  biblical  geologist  dig  down  into  the  strata 
of  truth,  and  tell  us  the  order  in  which  they  lie ;  let  him, 
if  he  will,  dispute  about  that  order,  and  call  himself  a 
Huttonian  or  a  Wernerian  ;  let  him  adopt  his  ''  ism  ;"  but 
do  let  the  unlettered  man  and  the  child  feel  the  beauty, 
and  sublimity,  and  moral  power  of  those  precepts  and 
facts  of  revelation  which  God  has  made  to  stand  as  the 
great  mountains.  Let  the  biblical  astronomer  tell  us  of 
central  and  planetary  truths,  but  let  the  unlettered  man 
and  the  child  walk  in  the  light  of  the  Sun  of  righteous- 
ness. And,  sir,  is  this  the  way  to  produce  perplexity, 
confusion,  heresy  ?  In  my  opinion  the  first  step  towards 
doctrinal  union  is  to  bring  the  Gospel  to  bear  practically 
upon  the  hearts  of  men.  We  are  not  sufficiently  aware 
how  much  a  love  of  the  truth  assists  us  in  comprehending 
the  truth.  Let  the  mind  be  early  freed  from  the  con- 
trolling power  of  selfishness,  and  that  reluctance  to  admit 
humbling  and  self-denying  truth,  which  is  the  great  ground 
of  heresy,  will  be  done  away.     Or  if  error  should  remain, 


175 

as  perhaps  through  human  imperfection  it  always  will,  it 
would  not,  as  it  now  does,  darken  the  moral  sky,  and  bear 
in  its  bosom  the  elements  of  the  tempest — it  would  be 
only  as  the  light  cloud  that  causes  a  passing  shadow  in 
the  general  sunshine. 

These,  sir,  are  some  of  the  arguments  with  which  I 
would  sustain  the  resolution.  But  if  facts  could  be  ad- 
duced on  this  subject  they  would  be  more  powerful  than 
any  argument.  Here  I  cannot  enlarge,  but  may  perhaps 
mention  a  single  case  in  point,  that  occurred  recently.  It 
was  of  a  boy  only  ten  years  old,  a  member  of  a  Sabbath- 
school  in  Brooklyn,  who  was  in  danger  of  being  ship- 
wrecked off  the  coast  of  North  Carolina.  There  Avas  a 
heavy  sea,  the  ship  had  struck,  and  it  was  every  moment 
expected  she  would  go  to  pieces.  As  soon  as  he  was  told 
by  his  mother  the  danger  they  were  in,  he  went  to  his 
little  cabin,  (he  was  the  son  of  the  captain,)  and  after 
spending  a  short  time  alone,  came  out  prepared  to  buffet 
the  waves.  And  what  was  his  preparation?  He  had 
lashed  tightly  about  him  a  few  articles  of  clothing  and  his 
Bible.  He  felt  that  he  should  be  safer  in  the  waters  with 
his  Bible  near  him.  Here  is  the  spirit  that  we  wish  to 
see,  and  that  we  may  see.  Let  our  children  bind  the 
Bible  to  their  hearts,  and  then  whenever  they  are  called 
upon  to  cast  themselves  upon  the  agitated  waters  of  life, 
it  will  bear  them  above  the  waves  of  temptation ;  the 
waters  of  death  itself  shall  not  overflow  them  when  they 
pass  through ;  they  shall  reach  a  safe  and  a  happy  shore. 
And  here  let  me  say  to  Sabbath-school  teachers,  as  well 
as  to  the  friends  of  this  Society,  go  on,  go  on,  lash  the 
Bible  to  the  hearts  of  the  young,  lash  it  to  the  heart  of 
this  nation,  and  then  the  noble  vessel  that  bears  our  liber- 
ties will  never  founder;  she  will  outride  the  wildest  hur- 
ricane that  ever  blew.  But  laying  aside  cases  of  early 
conversion,  and  of  strong  moral  impression,  which  are  the 
main  thing,  I  wish  the  ministers  of  the   Gospel  present 


176 

could  testify  what  knowledge  of  the  Bible  it  is  that  is 
blended  most  intimately  with  their  thoughts,  that  presents 
itself  most  spontaneously,  and  is  most  useful  for  reference 
and  quotation.  I  appeal  to  you,  my  brethren,  whether  it 
is  not  that  which  you  obtained  before  you  were  twelve 
years  old,  yes,  and  in  many  cases  before  you  were  six. 

If  now  we  add  to  this  the  benignant  aspect  with  which 
the  Bible  every  where  looks  upon  the  young,  that  he  who 
was  next  to  the  apostles  in  usefulness,  knew  from  a  child 
the  Holy  Scriptures  which  were  able  to  make  him  wise 
unto  salvation ;  if  we  remember  that  the  Saviour  took  up 
little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed  them,  saying,  '•  Of 
such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ; "  if  we  hear  him  saying, 
"  Verily  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  shall  not  receive  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  as  a  little  child,  shall  in  no  wise  enter 
therein ; "  it  seems  to  me  that  our  duty  on  this  subject 
could  not  be  made  plainer. 

We  would,  sir,  have  this  blessed  book  circulated  and 
read  every  where  ,*  read  in  private,  in  families,  in  schools. 
We  would  have  it  read  by  every  body ;  by  the  aged,  by 
the  middle-aged,  and  especially  by  the  young ;  for  just  in 
proportion  as  we  can  bring  its  truths  to  bear  upon  their 
hearts,  shall  we  lay  the  foundation  of  a  reformation  that 
will  supersede  the  necessity  of  all  others.  We  shall  change 
the  spirit  of  society,  and  then,  whatever  is  wrong  in  its 
external  forms  will  be  cast  off  naturally  and  without  con- 
vulsion, just  as  the  chrysalis  drops  its  old  covering  when 
its  wings  are  fully  grown.  Then  a  just,  and  therefore  a 
permanent  order  of  things  will  be  established.  "  The 
people  shall  be  all  righteous,  and  shall  possess  the  land  for 
ever." 


ADDRESS, 


DELIVERED   AT   THE   THIRD    ANNIVERSARY   OF   THE   MOUNT   HOLYOKE 
FEMALE    SEMINARY. 

July  30,  1840. 


Important  as  female  education  is  now  admitted  to  be, 
it  is  not  perhaps  surprising  that  it  did  not  receive  early 
attention.  Men  attack  evils  as  they  find  them,  without 
first  investigating  secret  influences  and  remote  causes.  It 
was  natural,  for  instance,  that  intemperance  should  first 
be  attacked  as  it  existed  in  the  intemperate,  before  it  was 
traced  back  to  its  source  in  temperate  drinking.  And  so 
it  was  natural  that  mankind  should  first  attempt  to  control 
the  waters  of  society  as  they  found  them  flowing  on, 
impetuous  and  turbid,  before  tracing  them  up  to  their 
source  and  purifying  the  springs  from  which  they  flowed. 

This  attempt  has  been  made  from  the  beginning  and  is 
still  made.  It  is  not  even  yet  understood  how  true  it  is, 
in  the  body  politic  as  well  as  in  the  natural  body,  that  "  if 
one  member  suff'er,  all  the  members  suff'er  with  it,"  that  if 
one  portion  of  the  community  be  enslaved,  or  oppressed, 
or  degraded,  there  will  be  sown  indirectly  the  seeds  of 
vice,  of  debility,  and  of  ultimate  dissolution  ;  and  especial- 
ly, that  if  those  who  hold  to  us  the  relations  of  wives,  and 
mothers,  and  daughters,  and  sisters,  are  restricted,  or 
23 


178 

cramped,  or  in  any  way  prevented  from  receiving  that 
expansion  of  the  intellect  and  of  the  affections  which  will 
enable  them  to  exert  an  elevating  and  a  purifying  influ- 
ence upon  man,  society  cannot  reach  its  full  stature  and 
perfection.  It  is  not  understood  how  high  those  qualities 
of  the  intellect  and  of  the  heart  are,  which  are  needed  for 
the  right  management  of  the  young,  how  much  light  and 
how  much  love  must  shine  around  the  opening  bud  of 
early  childhood  that  it  may  expand  in  fair  proportions  ;  it 
is  not  understood  how  early  the  ductile  material  of  char- 
acter begins  to  grow  rigid,  so  that  before  the  age  of  eight, 
or  even  of  six,  it  generally  assumes  lineaments  to  which 
subsequent  life  only  serves  to  give  greater  prominence. 
In  forming  that  material,  man  cannot  do  what  ought  to 
be  done,  he  cannot  undo  what  loill  he  done  by  a  mother 
who  is  ignorant  or  weak  or  selfish  or  unprincipled ;  and 
whatever  influence  he  may  wish  to  exert,  will  be  far  more 
efficient  if  he  has  the  co-operation  of  one  who  can  enter 
fully  into  all  his  views, — just  as  the  oak  will  cast  a  shade 
that  is  deeper  and  more  refreshing  if  the  vine  that  adorns 
it  mingles  its  leaves  with  those  of  every  branch,  and 
entwines  itself  to  the  topmost  bough. 

But  these  truths  are  beginning  to  be  understood  and 
felt,  and  there  are  probably  more  persons  now  than  ever 
before,  who  feel  that  if  we  are  ever  to  do  any  thing  eff'ec- 
tual  for  the  improvement  of  society,  the  proper  place  to 
begin  at  is  the  beginning — that  the  influence  that  presides 
over  the  cradle,  and  the  nursery,  and  the  fireside,  must  be 
a  right  influence. 

My  opportunities  for  information  on  this  subject  are 
slight,  but  I  believe  there  are  now  few  who  will  not 
assent  to  tlie  two  following  propositions :  first,  that  so  far 
as  the  object  of  education  is  to  fit  the  individual  for  a 
particular  sphere,  the  education  of  woman — her  |  repara- 
tion for  hat  sphere — should  be  as  complete  and  thorough 
as  that  of  man  ;  and,  secondly,  that  so  far  as  the  object  of 


179 

education  is  to  expand  and  strengthen  the  mind,  without 
reference  to  a  more  specific  and  immediate  result,  the 
advantages  of  the  sexes  should  be  equal.  By  this  I  do 
not  mean  that  their  education  should  be  the  same,  but 
that  the  education  of  woman  should  be  as  well  adapted  to 
expand  and  strengthen  her  mind,  as  that  of  man  is  to 
expand  and  strengthen  his. 

Between  these  two  parts  of  •education  there  is  a  broad 
distinction,  and  it  is  now  generally  understood  that  it  is  a 
false  method  to  neglect  the  specific  and  the  practical  for 
the  more  general.  The  trades,  the  business,  the  individ- 
ual duties  of  life,  its  ordinary  arrangements  both  domestic 
and  public,  must  move  forward.  We  must,  for  example, 
have  good  blacksmiths.  They  must  perfect  themselves 
in  their  business,  and  then,  if  they  please,  they  may  learn 
fifty  languages.  It  is  precisely  for  this  that  Mr.  Burritt 
claims  our  admiration.  It  is  not  so  much  that  he  knows 
so  many  languages,  though  this  is  certainly  very  extraor- 
dinary, as  it  is  that  he  has  acquired  them  without  neglect- 
ing the  labors  or  slighting  the  details  of  his  occupatiom 
This  is  what  is  needed  every  where,  and  especially  in 
female  education.  It  is  from  a  want  of  this  on  the  part  of 
some  distinguished  females,  and  of  many  others  who  have 
had  a  school  education,  that  more  prejudice  has  arisen 
against  female  education  than  from  any  other  source. 
Woman  has  so  much  to  do  with  details,  that  it  is  particu- 
larly unfortunate,  and  incongruous,  and  often  one  of  the 
''miseries  of  human  life  "  to  those  intimately  connected 
with  her,  when  she  is  so  imaginative  as  not  to  see  things 
as  they  are,  or  so  much  given  to  general  speculation  as  not 
to  attend  to  the  minutise  of  domestic  and  social  life.  It  is 
even  said  by  some  respecting  this  Seminary  that  it  is 
doing  more  harm  than  good,  because,  as  they  say,  it 
"  turns  all  the  girls  into  ladies."  And  their  idea  of  a  lady 
seems  to  be,  that  she  is  a  sort  of  person  who  has  a  smat- 
tering of  knowledge  without  knowing  much  that  is  sub- 


180 

stantial ;  that  she  is  above  work,  a  good  deal  dressed  up ; 
and  that  she  is  particularly  pleased  when  she  can  find 
somebody  who  will  talk  nonsense  to  her  and  to  whom 
she  can  talk  nonsense.  They  would  miagine  that  the 
following  description,  by  Crabbe,  of  a  boarding  school 
Miss,  is  as  applicable  now  as  it  was  in  his  day. 

"  To  farmer  Moss,  Iq  Langar  vale,  came  down. 
His  only  daughter,  from  her  school  in  town  ; 
A  tender,  timid  maid,  who  knew  not  how 
To  pass  a  pig-stye,  or  to  face  a  cow  ; 
Smiling  she  came,  with  petty  talents  graced, 
A  fair  complexion,  and  a  slender  waist." 

Or,  if  intellectual  advantages  are  really  obtained,  they  take 
it  for  granted  it  is  at  the  expense  of  the  more  homely,  and 
useful,  and  domestic  qualities.  So  prevalent  has  this 
prejudice  been,  even  among  the  better  informed  portions 
of  the  community,  that  young  ladies  whose  tastes  have 
led  them  to  make  uncommon  attainments  in  languages  or 
science  have  felt  themselves,  from  other  motives  than 
their  native  modesty,  desirous  of  carefully  concealing  the 
fact.  This  prejudice  ought  to  be  entirely  done  away,  and 
young  ladies  now  in  a  course  of  education,  owe  it  to 
themselves  and  to  the  cause  to  see  that  it  is  done  away. 
Let  them  have  independence,  and  keep  to  their  good  sense 
on  this  point,  fully  preparing  themselves  for  domestic 
duties,  and  acquiring  no  fastidiousness  or  false  refinement 
in  regard  to  their  performance  ;  and  there  is  no  friend  they 
have  now,  or  ever  will  have,  who  will  not  be  happy  and 
proud  to  have  them  accomplished  to  any  extent,  and  make 
the  highest  attainments  in  literature  and  science.  A  sin- 
gle Miss  Burritt,  if  she  could  be  'found,  would,  in  my 
opinion,  do  more  for  the  cause  of  female  education  than 
any  money  that  can  be  raised. 

Regarding  it  then  as  settled  that  woman  should  be  as 
well  fitted  for  her  particular  sphere,  whatever  that  may 
be,  as  man  is  for  his,  let  us  look  at  the  proposition  stated 


181 

in  regard  to  her  general  education.  This  was,  that  so 
far  as  the  object  of  education  is  simply  to  expand  and 
strengthen  the  mind,  the  advantages  of  the  sexes  should 
be  equal.  But  taking  this  as  our  principle,  and  perhaps 
we  cannot  adopt  a  better,  there  are  still  two  reasons,  as 
society  is  now  constituted,  why  the  general  education  of 
females  will  be  less  extensive  than  that  of  the  other  sex. 
The  first  is,  that  the  particular  callings  of  men  render 
much  of  the  study  that  is  specific  and  professional  with 
them,  entirely  general  with  females.  The  great  motive 
with  men  in  studying  languages  and  mathematics,  is  not, 
generally,  to  cultivate  their  faculties,  but  to  prepare  them- 
selves for  the  attainment  and  practice  of  their  professions. 
There  evidently  is  not  the  same  reason  for  teaching  young 
ladies  navigation,  and  engineering,  and  Hebrew,  as  if  they 
were  expected  to  take  the  command  of  our  men-of-war,  or 
lay  out  railroads,  or  expound  the  Old  Testament.  This 
reason  must  have  a  very  considerable  influence,  so  long  as 
the  present  distribution  of  employments  remains.  The 
second  reason  is  to  be  found  in  the  comparatively  early 
age  at  which  females  enter  into  society  and  into  married 
life.  The  effect  of  this  also  upon  a  protracted  course  of 
study  and  general  mental  discipline  must  be  unfavorable 
— but  whether  there  will  be  any  change  in  this  respect, 
is,  perhaps,  doubtful. 

Still,  making  every  allowance  which,  in  a  practical 
world  like  this,  we  must  make  for  these  two  reasons, 
there  will  remain  what  may  be  fairly  called  a  liberal  edu- 
cation for  females,  which  we  are  called  upon  by  parental 
affection,  by  a  regard  to  the  general  good,  by  the  spirit  of 
Christianity,  by  justice  itself,  to  diffuse  as  widely  as  pos- 
sible. It  only  remains  therefore  to  inquire,  what  should 
be  the  spirit  and  principle  of  such  an  education,  and  what 
means  ought  to  be  provided  for  its  promotion. 

And  here  I  may  observe,  that  deficient  as  the  means 
have  been,  yet  the  great  reason  why  the  legitimate  objects 


182 

of  female  education  have  not  been  more  fully  realized,  has 
existed,  not  so  much  in  that  deficiency,  as  in  the  wrong 
spirit  and  principle  by  which  fashionable  female  education 
has  been  governed.  Let  woman  be  rightly  estimated,  let 
her  be  so  treated  that  she  shall  rightly  estimate  herself, 
and  the  extent  and  quality  of  her  moral  influence  upon  a 
family  and  upon  society  will  be  less  modified  than  many 
have  supposed,  by  tlie  precise  amount  of  acquisition  she 
may  make  in  the  higher  branches  of  intellectual  edu- 
cation. 

It  is  obvious,  then,  that  the  inquiry  respecting  the  spirit 
and  principle  of  female  education  is  first  in  importance  ; 
and  as  that  education  is,  and  ought  to  be,  conducted  very 
much  with  reference  to  the  opinions  and  feelings  of  others, 
perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  inquire  what  those  feelings  are 
to  which  we  should  have  respect,  if  we  had  it  in  our 
power  to  endow  a  female  friend  with  every  thing  that  we 
thought  desirable.  What  are  the  feelings  which  a  young 
lady  would  herself  wish  to  excite  in  a  judicious  and  im- 
partial person  of  her  own  sex  ? 

And  here  we  will  not  ask  the  young  lady  to  answer, 
but  we  will  answer  for  ourselves  and  for  her,  that  one 
feeling  which  we  should  wish  to  have  excited  would  be 
admiration.  Perhaps  some  would  hesitate  to  avow  this  ; 
but  it  is,  to  some  extent,  common  to  all,  and  if  properly 
regulated,  is  not,  in  my  judgment,  wrong.  This  is  the 
feeling  awakened  by  that  excellence  in  natural  objects, 
in  human  actions,  and  in  the  products  of  skill,  which 
addresses  itself  to  the  taste.  God  evidently  made  his 
works  to  be  admired.  The  human  figure  and  counte- 
nance, as  the  chief  of  those  works  on  the  earth,  ought 
to  be  admired.  If  he  has  given  us  endowments  capable 
of  exciting  this  feeling,  it  is  an  advantage  to  us,  and  if 
those  around  us  are  what  they  should  be,  a  pleasure  to 
them,  for  which  both  we  and  they  ought  to  be  thankful ; 
and  if  we  ai'e  able  to  embody  and  express  the  principles. 


183 

of  a  pure  taste,  I  do  not  see  why  we  may  not  emulate 
what  is  beautiful  and  graceful  in  nature  ;  and  innocently 
seek  to  become  the  conscious  objects  of  that  feeling  which 
God  excites  by  his  works. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  this  brings  us  on 
dangerous  ground.  The  love  of  admiration,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  love  of  those  things  which  may  properly 
awaken  it,  can  never  be  called  a  virtue.  Under  its  best 
forms  it  is  simply  innocent ;  and  under  almost  all  the  forms 
in  which  we  see  it,  it  is  decidedly  selfish.  It  is,  in  the 
female  world,  what  the  desire  of  power  is  among  men — 
the  moving  spring  of  the  world  of  fashion,  as  that  is  of  the 
woild  of  politics;  and  it  is  to  obtain  this  that  the  tactics 
of  rival  belles  are  displayed  at  places  of  fashionable  resort, 
as  those  of  politicians  are  in  congress  and  at  the  polls. 

The  feeling  itself  is  awakened,  first,  by  natural  gifts, 
as  beauty  and  grace  of  person  ;  and,  secondly,  by  those 
acquisitions  that  are  termed  accomplishments.  So  far  as 
it  depends  upon  the  first,  it  can  evidently  have  no  good 
effect  in  stimulating  industry  ;  and  the  readiness  with 
which  such  advantages  are  made  the  ground  of  pride,  and 
vanity,  and  aflfectation,  and  impertinerrt  display — the 
facility  with  which  they  lead  to  a  line  of  feeling  and 
conduct  inconsistent  with  a  high  state  of  either  moral  or 
intellectual  culture,  renders  the  possession  of  them  in  any 
remarkable  degree,  in  almost  all  cases,  a  misfortune.  No 
woman  much  distinguishe'd  for  any  thing  else,  has,  so  far 
as  I  know,  been  distinguished  for  beauty,  and  most  dis- 
tinguished women  have  been  remarkably  plain.  By  this 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  beauty  is,  in  itself,  undesirable, 
but  only  relatively  so,  for  in  a  perfect  state  of  things 
every  individual  would  be  perfectly  beautiful.  When  the 
character  is  so  strong  that  beauty  seems  to  be  pos- 
sessed with  that  charming  unconsciousness  with  which 
the  flower  blooms,  it  is  well ;  but  if,  when  we  say,  "  she 
is  beautiful,"  we  must  hear  from  some  dear  friend  of  hers 


184 

the  too  well  founded  remark,  "  yes,  and  she  knows  it 
too,"  then  would  a  countenance  expressive  simply  of  good 
temper  and  good  sense  be  on  the  whole  more  pleasing. 

But  it  is  not  of  admiration  as  excited  by  natural  gifts, 
so  much  as  by  the  results  of  education,  that  I  ought  here 
to  speak.  Those  acquisitions  which  have  this  desire  for 
their  object,  are,  as  I  have  said,  termed  accomplishments ; 
and  it  is  the  gratification  of  this  desire  by  means  of  them 
that  is  often  the  express,  if  not  the  avowed,  end  of  most  of 
the  pains  taken  in  female  education.  It  is,  indeed,  by  the 
predominance  of  this,  that  the  whole  spirit  of  fashionable 
female  education  has  been  corrupted,  so  that  there  are 
few  things  in  the  treatment  of  women  in  heathen  or 
Mohammedan  countries  more  irrational  and  degrading 
than  the  sacrifice  of  the  health,  and  intellect,  and  affec- 
tions of  young  girls  that  is  often  made  with  reference  to 
it.  The  physical  system  is  distorted,  and  years  are  spent 
in  mere  mechanical  drudgery  in  which  neither  the  head 
nor  the  heart  are  interested  or  improved.  If  there  is  in 
any  human  being  a  true  love  of  that  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  the  arts, — of  that  which  is  beautiful,  and 
graceful,  and  sublime,  let  it  be  cultivated,  and  brought 
out  in  its  appropriate  forms  of  expression.  It  will  add  not 
only  grace,  but  dignity  to  the  character.  It  will  refine 
and  elevate  society.  But  when  the  true  inspiration  gives 
place  to  the  selfish  love  of  admiration,  it  is  like  the  coming 
in  of  idol  worship,  under  the  name,  and  in  the  place,  of 
true  religion.  Instead  of  the  simplicity  of  character  and 
unselfish  pleasure  connected  with  a  true  love  of  the  arts, 
— forwardness,  artifice,  affectation,  envy,  come  in ;  and 
under  the  pretence  of  cultivating  a  part  of  our  nature 
which  was  intended  to  be  the  ally  of  virtue,  the  affections 
are  perverted  and  the  heart  hardened.  There  becomes 
fixed  in  the  mind,  (and  who  has  not  seen  it  ?)  a  passion 
which  is  among  the  most  absorbing  and  unhappy  of  any 
in  its  effects.     The  individual  under  its  influence  becomes 


185 

entirely  selfish.  There  is  no  artifice  to  which  she  will 
not  resort,  no  meanness  to  which  she  will  not  descend. 
The  desire  increases  by  indulgence,  affection  is  sacrificed 
to  it,  fortune  is  wasted,  and  the  comforts  and  duties  of 
home  are  neglected.  Well  has  Lady  Morgan  observed, 
that  those  who  excite  general  admiration  are  seldom  cal- 
culated to  make  one  happy. 

Nor  is  there  any  passion  that  will  more  certainly  lead 
to  ultimate  disappointment  and  unhappiness.  The 
period  during  which  admiration  can  be  expected,  is 
brief,  and  nothing  can  be  more  pitiable  than  attempts 
made  to  retain  it  as  age  comes  on.  I  have  seen  few 
persons  more  restless  and  apparently  wretched,  than 
some  who  have  lived  in  the  midst  of  admiration  and 
flattery,  when  they  found  themselves  passing  into  the 
shadows  of  age.  Let  accomplishments  come  in  as 
accessories  to  a  cultivated  intellect  and  pure  affections, 
and  they  are  to  be  desired.  They  are  as  the  clouds 
that  sometimes  follow  in  the  train  of  the  evening  sun, 
and  that  reflect  in  brighter  colors,  without  obscuring,  the 
common  light  of  day.  But  when  they  are  taken  out 
of  their  proper  place,  and  it  is  attempted  to  make  them 
shine  by  their  own  light,  even  admiration  is  seldom 
gained,  and  when  it  is,  it  is  too  dearly  purchased  by  the 
loss  of  respect. 

Respect — this  is  the  next  feeling  which  we  should  wish 
our  young  friend  to  excite  ;  and  the  foundations  of  it  are 
very  different  from  those  of  admiration.  With  this, 
beauty,  accomplishments,  and  even  talents,  considered  by 
themselves,  have  very  little  to  do.  They  may  increase 
respect  when  its  fundamental  requisites  are  present,  but 
they  cannot  give  it.  The  foundation  of  respect  is  laid  in 
the  use  which  we  make  of  our  own  powers.  One  who 
uses  the  faculties  which  God  has  given  in  a  right  way, 
and  for  right  ends,  is  always  respectable  ;  and  respect  is 
diminished  by  any  neglect  or  perversion  of  those  faculties. 
24 


186 

If  they  are  perverted  by  vice,  it  is  criminal ;  if  they  are 
neglected  through  indolence,  it  is,  if  less  criminal,  more 
contemptible  ;  and  if  they  are  used  in  an  improper  sphere 
or  in  an  affected  way,  it  is  either  pitiable  or  ridiculous. 

But  a  right  use  of  the  faculties  implies,  of  course,  the 
ascendency  of  the  moral  nature,  manifesting  itself  in  a 
sacred  regard  to  duty,  whether  towards  God  or  towards 
man.  Wherever  this  is  seen  it  commands  respect,  and  no 
other  element  of  our  nature  does,  except  in  coQibination 
with  this.  The  moment  a  child  has  an  idea  of  any  thing 
as  rights  and  struggles  and  makes  sacrifices  for  it  as  such, 
that  moment  we  respect  that  child.  We  see  in  it  some- 
thing sacred  ;  we  recognize  its  relations  to  God  ;  we  see 
evidence  of  moral  accountability,  and  the  pledge  of  an 
immortal  life.  Here  is  the  germ  that  we  are  to  cultivate. 
Here  is  the  ground  on  which  angels  sympathize  with  man, 
on  which  man  has  been  redeemed.  He  was  redeemed 
because  his  moral  nature  rendered  him  capable  of  commu- 
nion with  God,  and  brought  him  into  relations  to  his 
government  which  can  cease  only  when  that  ceases.  And 
shall  a  being  thus  endowed,  thus  cared  for,  be  set  up  as 
an  exhibition  ? 

But  essential  as  the  manifestation  of  moral  principle  is  in 
order  to  respect,  there  is  still  another  element  not  to  be 
overlooked.  It  is  a  sense  of  propriety.  By  this  I  mean 
that  nice  perception  of  the  natural  relations  as  constituted 
by  God,  by  which  many  persons  adopt,  as  by  a  finer  sense 
or  instinct,  the  course  of  conduct  that  would  be  found  best 
on  the  widest  view  of  things.  This,  it  must  be  confessed, 
is  not  always  proportioned  to  moral  principle,  and  when 
it  is  not,  we  feel  a  painful  want  of  harmony  in  the  effect 
produced  upon  our  minds.  Certainly  we  are  not  to  mis- 
take conventional  arrangements  for  the  natural  order  of 
things ;  but  if  woman  has  a  sphere  that  is  appropriate  to 
her,  she  must  lose  respect  whenever  she  attempts  to  move 
out  of  that  sphere. 

The  only  danger  of  those  who  seek  to  be  respected  is 


187 

of  becoming  formal  and  stiff.  Bat  of  this  there  is  no 
need.  The  firmest  principle  is  entirely  compatible  with 
the  kindest  atfections,  and  the  most  perfect  grace  of 
manner.  Who  was  kinder  in  heart  than  our  Saviour  ? 
Who  ever  regarded  all  the  principles  of  taste  more  uni- 
formly than  he  ?  Respect  may  seem  a  cold  word  to  some  ; 
but  we  may  rely  upon  it  that  no  woman  was  ever  truly 
and  worthily  beloved  further  than  she  was  respected  ;  and 
she  is  false  to  her  own  interests,  as  well  as  to  the  dignity 
of  the  sex,  who,  for  the  sake  of  pleasing,  steps  from  the 
high  ground  of  moral  principle,  and  does  any  thing  that 
would  diminish  respect.  Young  women  little  know  how 
eagerly  this  is  watched  for,  how  quickly  it  is  perceived, 
how  contemptuously  it  is  spoken  of  The  qualities  which 
excite  respect  may  become  repulsive.  They  will,  when 
principle  verges  towards  bigotry,  and  propriety  towards 
precision.  But  when  those  qualities  are  connected  with 
good  taste,  and  pervaded,  as  they  may  be,  by  the  affec- 
tions, they  become  as  the  diamond  fitly  set,  not  only  solid 
but  brilliant,  the  most  precious  gem  that  can  sparkle  upon 
the  breast  of  beauty.  Respect  need  not,  and  should  not 
be  incompatible  with  the  warmest  atfection. 

And  this  leads  me  to  add,  that  we  should  not  only  wish 
our^young  friend  to  be  admired  and  respected,  but  also  to 
be  beloved.  Unless  there  is  between  us  and  others  a  recip- 
rocal affection,  the  light  and  warmth  of  life  have  gone  out. 
That  woman  should  be  the  object  of  affection  is  especially 
desirable,  both  as  her  happiness  is  more  dependent  upon 
it  than-  that  of  the  other  sex,  and  as  it  is  the  legitimate 
source  of  her  influence.  When  her  qualities  are  such  as 
properly  to  attract  love  in  addition  to  respect  and  admira- 
tion, however  great  her  influence  may  be,  man  would  not 
wish  it  less  ;  and  it  certainly  will  be  so  great,  that  woman 
ought  not  to  wish  it  more.  It  will  be  an  influence, 
too,  that  will  preclude  all  idea  of  conflicting  and  rival 
interests  between  the  sexes,  while  it  is  felt,  through  the 
Christian  views  and  devoted  affections  of  man,  upon  the 


188 

widest  movements  of  society.  The  sphere  of  woman,  in 
its  relation  to  these  great  movements,  is  Uke  the  wheel  in 
the  vision  of  the  prophet  that  was  within  a  wheel.  It 
lies  at  the  centre.  There  the  affections  of  our  hearts 
cluster,  and  nothing  can  go  well  unless  the  same  spirit 
inspires  and  guides  the  movements  of  both  the  wheels. 

The  great  mistake  in  regard  to  affection,  obvious  as  it 
is,  seems  to  consist  in  supposing  that  it  can  exist  per- 
manently, without  permanent  qualities  in  the  character 
by  which  it  is  naturally  attracted  and  upon  which  it  can 
fix.  How  can  we  love,  if  there  is  nothing  to  be  loved? 
But  how  far  education  can  confer  those  qualities  on 
which  affection  depends,  may  admit  of  a  question.  Cer- 
tainly it  cannot  secure  them,  as  it  may  accomplishments 
and  knowledge,  for  affection  depends,  not  upon  what  a 
person  may  acquire,  but  upon  what  she  may  come  to  be ; 
not  upon  what  she  lias^  but  upon  what  she  is.  This  is 
an  important  distinction,  and  a  proper  attention  to  it  would 
do  much  to  correct  the  general  spirit  of  the  education  of 
both  sexes.  Interest  asks,  has  she  money  ?  Pride  and 
vanity  ask,  has  she  accomplishments  ?  Yes,  and  has  she 
knowledge  ?  But  the  heart  asks,  is  she  affectionate  ?  is 
she  benevolent  and  disinterested  ?  is  she  pure  and  elevated 
in  her  moral  character  ?  These  are  qualities  which  cannot 
be  obtained  by  playing  on  musical  instruments,  or  reciting 
lessons. 

So  far  as  what  is  termed  education,  merely  assists  indi- 
viduals in  acquiring  either  knowledge  or  accomplishments 
which  are  to  be  used  for  purposes  of  display,  it  is  not  to 
be  encouraged.  So  far  as  it  gives  this  knowledge  and 
these  accomplishments  for  innocent  pleasure,  or  to  advance 
the  civilization  and  comfort  of  the  world,  it  is  to  be  en- 
couraged as  any  other  useful  art.  It  is  only  when  it 
seeks  to  change  what  man  is,  and  make  him  what  he 
ought  to  he,  that  it  assumes  an  importance  beyond  every 
thing  else.  Then  it  goes  down  into  the  depths  of  his 
being,  and  seeks  to  lay  the  foundations  right.     It  says  in 


189 

words  of  more  than  human  wisdom,  "  First  make  the 
tree  good,  and  the  fruit  will  be  good."  Make  men  what 
they  ought  to  be,  and  acquisitions  and  accomplishments 
will  come  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  is  only  as  education 
can  do  this,  that  it  will  greatly  affect  for  good  the  results 
of  human  society. 

And  here,  I  may  observe,  we  see  the  distinction  be- 
tween an  artist  in  education,  a  skilful  professor,  one  who 
assists  us  in  making  a  particular  acquisition,  and  a  mother, 
a  father,  a  true  educator,  who  moulds  the  feelings  and 
principles  of  action,  who  enters  into  the  work  with  an 
affection  and  a  sense  of  responsibility  which  money  can- 
not purchase,  and  which  nothing  but  high  aims  and  vir- 
tuous conduct  on  the  part  of  those  cared  for  can  reward. 
Here  then  there  is  needed  not  so  much  talents,  as,  what  is 
by  no  means  always  proportioned  to  them,  influence — and 
such  an  influence  too,  as  none  but  a  good  parent  can  ordi- 
narily exert.  And  I  cannot  believe  that  education  will 
ever  be  what  it  should,  till  parents  feel  their  responsibili- 
ties more,  and  give  more  personal  attention  to  the  subject, 
than  they  do  at  present. 

But  so  far  as  any  thing  can  be  accomplished  in  this  de- 
partment of  education,  no  system  is  worth  comparatively 
any  thing  that  is  not  based  on  the  Bible.  The  spirit  of 
the  Bible  reaches  down  to  the  depths  of  the  soul,  has 
power  to  transform  it,  and  to  confer  those  qualities  upon 
which  the  affections  of  a  reasonable  and  a  moral  beina: 
must  depend.  It  looks  entirely  at  what  a  man  is,  and  not ' 
at  all  at  what  he  has.  Hence  it  is  that  a  young  woman  of 
good  sense,  and  natural  endowments,  who  should  take  the 
Bible,  and  seek  in  simplicity  of  heart  to  learn  and  mani- 
fest its  spirit,  asking  wisdom  of  Him  who  giveth  liberally 
to  all,  and  should  grow  up  at  home  with  a  sensible  mother, 
would  not  only  be  more  estimable  and  lovely,  but  would  be 
better  fitted  for  usefulness,  and  in  the  highest  sense  better 
educated,  than  ninety-nine  in  a  hundred  who  spend  years 
at  school. 


190 

I  have  nothing  to  say  here  of  those  specific  affections 
which  belong  to  the  different  relations  of  life ;  but  as 
showing  the  general  ground  of  what  in  my  idea  consti- 
tutes loveliness,  and  which  alone  exalts  and  sanctifies  all 
those  affections,  I  wish  I  could  present  before  this  audience 
a  picture  which  I  once  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  at  the 
house  of  a  gentleman  in  Boston.  It  was  a  picture  of 
Mary,  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  and  hearing  his  words. 
There  was  loveliness,  as  there  always  must  be  when  the 
countenance  reflects  the  spirit  of  those  instructions  that 
fell  from  the  lips  of  Christ.  There  was  disinterested  af- 
fection, and  reverence,  and  purity,  and  moral  elevation, 
and  a  settled  peace  which  it  would  seem  that  even  torture 
could  not  disturb  ;  and  where  these  are  expressed,  there 
will  be  loveliness  whether  the  features  are  beautiful  or 
not.  But  when,  as  in  the  picture,  these  qualities  irradiate 
features  that  are  in  themselves  beautiful,  then  the  eye  and 
the  heart  are  both  satisfied — we  have  before  us  the  imper- 
sonation of  female  loveliness.  A  copy  of  that  picture 
ought  to  be  hung  up  in  every  female  seminary  in  the  land  ; 
for  as  it  is  the  religion  of  Christ  that  has  given  woman 
the  high  position  that  she  now  holds  in  the  respect  and 
the  best  affections  of  man,  so  it  is  the  spirit  of  that  alone 
that  can  fit  her  to  maintain  that  position.  Even  admira- 
tion of  the  highest  kind,  as  well  as  respect  and  love,  can 
flow  only  from  the  manifestation,  in  female  character,  of 
the  spirit  of  the  Christian  religion. 

Having  thus  considered  severally  the  emotions  with 
reference  to  which  we  should  educate  a  young  lady,  and 
the  qualifications  upon  which  those  emotions  must  de- 
pend, perhaps  it  may  be  well  to  bring  those  qualifications 
together,  and  contemplate  the  being  we  should  have. 
There  can  surely  be  no  harm  in  thus  gathering  up  a  little 
the  fragments  of  that  excellence  that  was  broken  and 
scattered  in  Eden,  and  holding  them  together  long  enough 
to  see  what  we  might  have  been — what,  through  the 
restoring  grace  of  the  second  Adam,  we  may  yet  be.     It 


191 

may  even  do  us  good  to  contemplate  ideal  excellence  by 
stimulating  us  to  higher  efforts,  if  we  are  at  the  same 
time  careful  to  acquire  no  disrelish  for  those  sober  and 
chastened  views  which  experience  gives,  of  what  we  are 
really  to  expect  in  a  world  like  this. 

Let  us,  then,  suppose  the  qualities  mentioned  to  be 
combined  in  a  high  degree  in  a  single  individual.  Let 
us  suppose  her  beautiful  in  person,  and,  I  will  not  say 
accomplished^  for  there  clings  to  that  word  something  of 
ostentation  which  I  do  not  like,  not  accomplished,  but 
possessed  of  accomplishments,  and  simple  and  elegant  in 
manners.  Let  us  suppose  her  intellectual  faculties  so 
exercised  and  balanced,  that  she  has  extensive  information 
and  good  judgment,  in  connection  with  the  lighter  graces 
of  imagination  and  fancy  ;  and  then  that  she  so  combines 
simple  piety  and  the  severer  virtues  with  practical  good- 
ness as  to  awaken  mingled  respect  and  affection  ;  and  we 
have  a  combination,  certainly  possible,  of  solid  and 
brilliant  qualities,  such  as  might  well  remind  a  person 
of  no  extraordinary  enthusiasm  of  that  expression  in  the 
Revelation,  "  And  I  saw  an  angel  standing  in  the  sun." 

Having  made  these  general  remarks,  which  were,  per- 
haps, rather  expected  than  needed,  I  will  proceed  to  say 
something  on  what  I  learn  from  those  more  immediately 
interested  in  it  to  be  the  peculiar  feature  of  this  Seminary 
— that  is,  lis  permanence.  This,  I  understand,  is  the  only 
Female  Seminary  in  the  Union  where  the  buildings  and 
grounds,  the  library  and  apparatus,  are  pledged  as  perma- 
nent contributions  to  the  cause  of  female  education.* 
All  other  seminaries  are  sustained  by  individual  enterprise, 
— in  some  cases  by  a  single  person — in  others  by  associa- 
tions, who  receive  an  income  from  the  investment  of  their 
money.  It  is  on  this  ground  especially  that  the  trustees 
of  this  seminary  present  their  claims  upon  the  liberality 

*  It  has  been  mentioned  to  me  since  the  above  was  spoken  that  there  is  at 
least  one  exception.     It  is  however  of  recent  origin. 


192 

of  the  public,  and  as  it  seems  to  me  with  good  reason. 
It  is  an  attempt  to  do  that  for  the  daughters  of  the  State, 
which  the  State  itself,  and  beneficent  individuals,  have 
from  the  first  done  for  its  sons.  Some  of  the  advantages 
connected  with  this  feature  are  the  following. 

First,  it  makes  a  good  education  less  expensive.  The 
practical  operation  of  this  single  feature  is  of  great  impor- 
tance. In  those  female  schools  that  have  been  ranked 
highest,  the  expense,  so  far  as  I  know,  of  sustaining  a 
young  lady  for  a  year,  is  nearly  double,  and,  in  some 
cases,  more  than  double  what  is  required  to  give  a  young 
man  the  advantages  of  a  college  course.  This,  of  course, 
prevents  any,  except  the  daughters  of  the  wealthy,  from 
receiving  what  is  called  the  best  education.  This  is  not 
in  accordance  with  the  spirit  of  our  institutions,  which  is 
to  give  no  political  preferences,  to  diffuse  knowledge  and 
education  as  widely  as  possible,  and  then  to  let  wealth 
and  social  institutions  take  care  of  themselves.  If  our 
colleges  were  not  so  endowed  as  to  furnish  a  better  edu- 
cation  than  private  wealth  can  generally  give,  we  should 
very  soon  have  one  education  for  the  rich,  and  another 
for  the  poor,  such  as  would  lay  the  foundation  for  distinc- 
tions far  broader  than  any  that  now  exist.  But  these 
institutions  were  founded  in  an  age  when  our  legislators 
had  not  yet  discovered  that  to  make  the  best  education 
cheap  by  endowments,  so  as  to  bring  it  within  the  reach 
of  the  great  body  of  the  people,  was  aristocratic  in  its 
tendencies.  That  discovery,  so  far  as  young  men  are 
concerned,  is  now  made  and  generally  received,  at  least  in 
this  State  ;  but  I  cannot  see  how  it  would  have  that  ten- 
dency as  applied  to  young  women.  There  are  many 
wealthy  men  who  pay  three  and  four  hundred  dollars  a 
year  for  the  education  of  their  daughters,  and  I  cannot 
see  why  it  would  not  be  a  public  benefit  if  these  same 
advantages,  and  perhaps  better,  could  be  had  for  sixty 
dollars,  so  that  the  daughters  of  clergymen,  country  mer- 
chants, farmers,  mechanics,   might  have  the  advantages 


193 

of  knowledge  and  truly  cultivated  intellects.  The  con- 
nection of  female  education  with  the  general  welfare,  has 
been  already  alluded  to.  This  is  such  as  to  render  it  a 
matter  in  which  the  State  is  concerned  ;  for  even  the  in- 
fluence of  common  schools,  concerning  which  so  much  is 
said,  is  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  home  which  is 
so  much  made  what  it  is  by  the  mother,  and  where 
instruction  and  influence  are  combined  as  they  can  be  no 
where  else. 

Nor  should  I  be  in  the  least  deterred  from  giving  such 
an  education  by  any  untoward  symptoms  of  the  present 
times.  A  period  of  transition  is  always  one  of  some 
confusion.  It  was  long  ago  said,  that  "  a  little  knowledge 
is  a  dangerous  thing."  This  we  are  seeing  exemplified. 
But  we  believe  that  a  judicious  and  liberal  education 
would  not  only  lead  woman  to  be  satisfied  with  her 
present  sphere,  but  would  enable  and  induce  her  to  render 
it  more  fruitful  of  blessings.  On  this  subject  we  desire 
investigation.  If  there  is  any  thing,  which,  upon  an  en- 
larged view  of  the  constitution  of  God,  and  the  relations 
of  things,  ought  to  be  conceded  to  woman  which  has  not 
yet  been,  then  it  is  for  the  true  interest  of  man  to  concede 
it;  and  any  thing  more  is  not  for  the  interest  of  woman. 

But  after  all  the  expense,  what  are  the  advantages  ofler- 
ed  by  these  private  and  shifting  seminaries  ?  So  far  as 
apparatus  and  libraries  are  concerned,  next  to  nothing. 
Nor  can  such  advantages  be  expected,  while  the  business 
is  in  the  hands  of  individuals  for  the  purpose  of  making 
money.  But  since  the  advances  that  have  been  made  in 
the  natural  sciences,  I  consider  some  acquaintance  with 
them  essential  to  a  good  education  of  any  rational  being. 
I  should  sooner  leave  a  daughter  ignorant  of  many  other 
very  important  branches  of  knowledge  than,  if  I  had  the 
means  of  teaching  her,  to  leave  her  ignorant  of  the  great 
laws  and  principles  of  chemistry,  and  botany,  and  natural 
philosophy,  and  astronomy,  which  unfold  to  us  the  structure 
25 


194 

of  the  universe,  and  bring  us  into  intelligent  communion 
with  the  works  of  God.  This  is  a  kind  of  knowledge,  in 
the  acquisition  of  which  I  should  have  no  reference  to  the 
mere  utility  of  physical  results,  but  to  the  higher  utility 
of  its  general  elevating  and  strengthening  and  purifying 
influence  upon  the  mind.  To  give  this  knowledge  ade- 
quately, there  must  be  more  apparatus  than  would  ever  be 
found  in  private  seminaries,  where  the  chief  part  of  the 
apparatus  generally  consists  in  pianos,  and  guitars,  and 
music-books.  I  may  also  add  here,  that  I  do  not  suppose 
it  would  be  possible  to  incorporate  the  peculiar  features 
of  this  institution,  by  which  its  advantages  are  afforded 
so  surprisingly  cheap,  into  any  purely  private  establish- 
ment. 

Another  advantage  connected  with  permanence,  con- 
sists in  securing  and  fixing  the  results  of  experience  and 
of  individual  wisdom.  This,  also,  is  of  great  importance. 
In  time  past,  when  a  school  has  been  established  by  some 
able  person,  and  become  celebrated,  it  has  been  thronged 
for  a  time,  till  the  principal  became  old,  or  sick,  or  wearied, 
or  was  married  ;  and  then,  however  striking  her  improve- 
ments, or  wise  her  arrangements,  there  has  been  no  frame- 
work to  sustain  them,  and  they  have  been  lost  to  the 
world.  No  more  striking  instance  of  this  could  be  men- 
tioned than  the  school  at  Ipswich  under  the  care  of  Miss 
Grant.  That  school  was  a  public  benefit,  which,  from 
the  number  of  teachers  it  sent  forth,  cannot  be  wholly 
lost.  But  how  much  greater  the  benefit,  if  its  principles 
and  order  shall  be  perpetuated  in  a  permanent  institution 
as  this  is  intended  to  be  ?  The  experience  which  would 
be  acquired  in  such  an  institution,  might  be  expected  to 
give  it  authority,  by  which  a  degree  of  uniformity  would 
be  produced,  so  that,  instead  of  the  present  uncertainty  in 
regard  to  schools,  the  public  would  know  where  to  look, 
and  what  to  expect. 

There  are  also  some  advantages  connected  with  a  per- 


195 

manent  institution  gratuitously  endowed,  from  its  more 
direct  responsibility  to  the  public.  In  such  institutions 
the  salaries  are  fixed ;  there  is  no  intention  of  making 
money,  and  little  temptation  to  those  various  kinds  of 
mismanagement  which  are  sometimes  complained  of  in 
private  schools. 

With  these  advantages,  the  trustees  of  this  institution 
hope  to  make  it  greatly  and  extensively  useful.  They  do 
not,  I  presume,  lay  claim  to  any  infallibility,  nor  to  any 
perfection  in  their  present  arrangements.  Many  judicious 
persons  still  look  with  suspense  at  the  issue  of  the  experi- 
ment ;  though  I  am  happy  to  say,  that  so  far  as  I  know, 
the  objections  are  vanishing  as  the  institution  makes  pro- 
gress and  becomes  better  known  ;  and  what  I  have  seen 
this  day,  strengthens  my  conviction  that  those  objections 
will  vanish  entirely.  For  myself,  I  have  no  doubt  of  the 
correctness  of  the  general  principles  of  which  I  have 
spoken.  First ;  there  is  an  education,  which  may  if  you 
please  be  termed  liberal,  higher  than  can  be  attained  at 
our  common  schools  or  even  academies,  which  it  is 
desirable  should  be  as  generally  and  as  equally  within  the 
reach  of  the  young  women  of  the  country  as  possible. 
And  secondly  ;  what  this  is,  and  the  best  manner  of  giving 
it,  can  be  best  ascertained  in  a  permanent  institution,  the 
object  of  whose  trustees  and  teachers  is  not  private  inter- 
est, except  as  that  is  promoted  by  a  fixed  salary,  but  solely 
the  advancement  of  a  rational  mode  of  education.  If  these 
two  points  are  established,  we  may  safely  leave  it  to  the 
wants  and  the  good  sense  of  the  public,  how  long  the 
course  shall  be,  and  of  what  studies  it  shall  consist. 

On  such  a  subject  I  ought  to  speak  with  great  diffi- 
dence, for  I  have  no  experience,  and  have  had  very  little 
opportunity  for  observation  ;  but  I  am  free  to  confess,  that 
if  the  mother  and  the  home  of  a  young  lady  were  such  as 
they  should  be,  and  such  as  many  are,  I  should  not  desire 
for  her  a  four,  and  I  should  have  great  doubts  in  regard 


196 

even  to  a  three  years'  course  at  any  public  seminary.  I 
think  too  highly  of  the  influence  of  home,  the  love  of 
home,  the  habits  and  associations  of  home.  I  should  not 
be  without  apprehension,  too,  that  the  manners  might 
suffer,  for  there  is  such  a  thing  as  school-manners  ;  and 
possibly  the  morals  of  some  might  be  endangered.  Still 
there  must  be  very  many  to  whom  such  an  institution  will 
be  an  unmixed  and  an  unspeakable  blessing.  Many  young 
ladies  have  no  mothers  ;  others  have  those  who  either 
cannot,  or  will  not,  give  them  the  requisite  attention  ; 
others  still,  who  expect  to  teach,  require  an  extended  edu- 
cation ;  and  if  there  should  be  some  evils  connected  with 
such  an  institution,  as  indeed  there  must  be  with  all  the 
institutions  of  man,  they  would  doubtless  be  far  overbal- 
anced by  the  good. 

In  the  meantime,  the  public  have  every  reason  to  con- 
fide in  the  trustees  and  teachers  of  this  seminary,  that 
their  course  will  be  guided  by  sound  discretion,  and  by 
enlarged,  liberal  and  Christian  views.  Let  them  be  sus- 
tained, then,  and  furnished  with  the  means  necessary  to 
carry  forward  their  great  and  good  work.  Their  success 
hitherto  has  been  all,  and  more  than  all  that  they  antici- 
pated. The  omens  of  the  future  are  full  of  promise.  If 
the  connection  of  this  cause  with  the  best  destinies  of  the 
country,  and  of  the  world,  is  less  perceptible  than  that  of 
some  others,  it  is  not  less  intimate.  That  period  for 
which  the  world  waits,  can  never  come  till  woman  shall 
assume  her  proper  place  in  intelligence  and  moral  influ- 
ence. Woman,  as  she  ought  to  be,  was  reserved  origi- 
nally to  give  completeness  to  the  creation  of  God ;  and  it 
is  only  when  she  shall  again  become  what  she  ought  to 
be,  that  we  can  expect  to  see  the  moral  elements  which  are 
now  in  commotion,  arranging  themselves  into  a  permanent 
and  happy  order  of  things. 


ADDRESS, 

DELIVERED   BEFORE    THE    MEDICAL   CLASS   AT    PITTSFIELD, 


November  4,  1840. 


It  is  now  ten  years  since  I  have  attended  to  the 
practice  of  Medicine,  or  to  the  studies  connected  with  it. 
Not  that  those  studies  have  lost  their  interest  to  me,  but 
I  have  been  so  much  occupied  with  other  things  as  neces- 
sarily to  exclude  them.  During  this  period,  if  I  may 
judge  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  or  from  the  years  that 
preceded  it,  there  have  been  changes,  it  may  be  improve- 
ments, both  in  the  theory  and  practice  of  medicine.  Of 
these  changes  however,  whatever  they  may  be,  I  am 
almost  entirely  ignorant ;  for  '  few  and  far  between '  have 
been  the  rambles  that  I  have  taken  along  the  shores  of 
medical  literature,  to  see  what  accident,  or  the  love  of 
truth,  or  the  love  of  fame  or  of  money,  may  have  thrown 
up  upon  the  surface  of  that  ever  restless  sea.  Of  the  new 
cases  reported,  the  new  operations  performed,  the  new 
medicines  discovered,  the  new  theories  proposed,  I  know 
very  little.  I  am  even  ignorant  whose  treatise  on  fever 
is  now  considered  the  best,  and  who  has  made  the  last 
attempt  to  bind,  in  his  nosology,  the  protean  form  of 
Disease. 

Under   these   circumstances,   though  ready  to  do  any 


193 

thing  in  my  power  to  add  interest  to  this  occasion,  it  is 
with  reluctance  that  I  come  before  the  profession,  for 
nothing  that  I  shall  say  can  have  the  advantage  of  novelty, 
or  of  being  connected  with  the  exciting  and  contested 
points  of  the  present  time.  If  the  profession  itself  is,  in 
some  way,  as  has  been  said  by  Shakspeare  of  the  times, 
out  of  joint,  I  cannot  reduce  the  dislocation  ;  if  it  needs 
physic,  or  bloodletting,  or  perhaps  a  touch  of  the  actual 
cautery,  I  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  symp- 
toms to  administer  the  remedy,  or  to  foretell  the  result. 

I  shall  therefore  ask  your  attention  to  a  more  general, 
and  of  course  a  less  exciting  topic — to  the  inquiry  how 
far  medicine  can  properly  be  called  a  science  ;  and  to  some 
remarks  on  the  qualities  of  mind  that  ought  to  be  culti- 
vated by  the  physician,  in  consequence  of  the  peculiar 
relation  which  his  scientific  knowledge  bears  to  the  prac- 
tice of  his  art. 

Every  physical  science  is  founded  on  observation,  and 
implies,  in  the  production  of  the  phenomena  which  it  con- 
siders, the  uniform  operation  of  what  we  call  a  principle 
or  law.  If  this  principle  has  ceased  to  operate,  we  then 
observe  and  classify  things  ;  if  it  is  still  in  operation,  we 
then  observe  and  classify  phenomena  or  facts.  In  geology, 
for  instance,  we  observe  rocks,  and  in  mineralogy,  min- 
erals. In  these  cases  we  observe  and  classify  the  results 
of  an  agency  that  has  worked  according  to  some  law,  and 
left  its  impress  upon  material  things,  and  passed  away. 
But  in  astronomy,  and  magnetism,  and  electricity,  and 
medicine,  we  observe  phenomena — facts  that  are  taking 
place  by  an  agency  now  in  operation,  and  that  is  moving 
on  and  will  move  on  according  to  its  own  laws,  whether 
we  understand  them  or  not.  When  the  stone  falls,  it  is 
not  the  stone  that  we  notice,  but  the  fact  of  its  fall.  This 
fact  is  classed  with  many  others  that' resemble  it— with 
the  tendency,  for  example,  of  the  moon  towards  the  earth, 
and  of  the  earth  towards  the  sun,  and  then  they  are  all 


199 

referred  to  the  operation  of  one  principle,  which  we  call 
gravitation.  This  is  the  active  principle  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  the  science  of  astronomy  ;  that  which  lies 
at  the  foundation  of  magnetism,  we  call  magnetism  or 
the  magnetic  fluid  ;  of  electricity,  electricity  or  the  elec- 
tric fluid ;  and  that  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  medi- 
cine, we  call  the  principle  of  life. 

Of  these  different  principles,  that  of  Life  certainly  is 
not  the  least  wonderful,  and  is  by  far  the  most  interesting 
to  us.  What  this  is  in  itself,  we  are  forbidden  by  the 
spirit  of  the  inductive  philosophy  to  inquire.  We  use  the 
term  principle,  or  law,  simply  to  express  the  fact  of  a  uni- 
form mode  of  operation,  without  supposing  that  the  prin- 
ciple or  law  can  itself  be  an  agent,  and  without  intending 
to  indicate  any  theory  in  relation  to  the  nature  of  the  agent. 
In  this,  as  in  similar  cases,  physical  science  can  only 
record  the  order  of  those  events  by  which  the  hidden  prin- 
ciple manifests  itself.  We  can  note  down,  and  that  is  all 
that  is  practically  needful  for  us,  the  progress  of  the  hour 
and  of  the  minute  hand  upon  the  dial  plate  of  nature  ;  we 
can  sometimes,  as  in  the  dissection  of  the  human  body, 
uncover  its  machinery ;  but  its  moving  power  cannot  be 
investigated  so  as  to  become,  as  that  term  is  understood 
in  the  Baconian  philosophy,  an  object  of  science.  Here 
the  part  of  true  wisdom  is  to  know  and  respect  the  limit 
of  our  powers.  This  limit,  at  the  point  now  in  question, 
is  well  defined.  There  is  not  on  either  side  of  it  the 
breadth  of  a  northern,  or  even  the  narrow  range  of  an 
equatorial  twilight.  When  we  would  step  from  facts  and 
their  classification  to  powers,  we  find  that  as  objects  of 
physical  science  they  utterly  transcend  and  defy  all  the 
means  and  methods  of  the  Baconian  induction.  In  respect 
to  these,  that  shore  of  the  ocean  of  truth  along  which 
Newton  felt  that  he  had  but  strayed  and  gathered  pebbles, 
is  a  bold  shore,  and  if  even  he  had  stepped  ofl*,  he  would 
have  plunged  at  once  beyond  his  depth. 


200 

This  principle  of  life  and  the  true  method  of  investi- 
gating it,  do  not  seem  to  have  been  fully  recognized  till 
the  time  of  John  Hunter ;  and  to  him  we  are  probably- 
more  indebted  on  this  subject  than  to  any  other  man.  He 
first  ascertained  that  life,  in  its  lowest  forms,  always  raises 
the  temperature  of  bodies — that  a  tree,  for  example,  that 
is  alive,  is  warmer  in  winter  than  one  that  is  not.  Here 
then  is  the  first  great  fact  by  which  life  exhibits  itself — it 
raises  the  temperature  of  all  bodies  in  which  it  resides  ;  a 
fact,  by  the  way,  which  those  who  investigate  the  cause 
of  animal  heat  might  do  well  to  regard  more  fully  than 
they  seem  to  have  done.  The  second,  and  grand  mode 
in  which  life  manifests  itself,  is  by  taking  ordinary  matter 
and  building  it  up,  in  opposition  to  the  common  laws  both 
of  chemistry  and  of  gravitation,  into  organized  forms.  Be- 
longing at  first  to  a  germ,  perhaps  too  small  for  inspection, 
it  commences  its  inexplicable  process  of  accretion,  of  assi- 
milation, and  of  arrangement,  and  working  always  with 
the  certainty  of  instinct,  if  not  with  the  skill  of  reason, 
it  becomes  the  grand  architect  of  every  living  structure. 
In  every  such  structure  Hunter  was  the  first  to  recognize 
the  operation  of  the  one  principle  of  life.  He  saw  that  it 
was  only  through  the  structures  that  the  principle  itself 
could  be  studied,  and  it  was  his  conception — a  conception 
which  he  went  as  far  towards  realizing  as  any  man  could 
in  that  day — to  collect  in  one  cabinet,  and  range  in  regu- 
lar gradation,  specimens  of  every  structure  formed  by  this 
principle. 

There  are,  indeed,  superadded  to  this  simple  principle 
of  life  in  animals  and  in  man,  sensibility,  locomotion,  and 
the  power  of  thought ;  but  these  need  not  be  studied  by 
the  physician  except  as  they  affect  that  principle,  for  his 
object  is  generally  gained  if  that  can  be  preserved,  and 
can  be  brought  to  assume  a  regular  and  healthy  action. 
The  higher  has  its  root  in  the  lower.  The  plant  grows 
from  the  soil ;  the  animal  from  the  plant.     Keep  the  soil 


201 

good,  and  the  plant  will  grow.  Keep  organic  life  soundj 
and  the  powers  of  sensibility,  and  locomotion,  andthoughtj 
will  generally  take  care  of  themselves. 

The  principle  of  life  then,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the 
science  of  medicine  ;  but  is  it  to  be  studied  as  manifested 
in  this  wonderful  range  of  productions  only  by  the  physi- 
cian ?  Certainly  not.  We  might  as  well  say  that  no  one 
should  study  the  science  of  music  except  those  whose 
business  it  is  to  repair  musical  instruments.  In  its 
regular  manifestations  the  principle  of  life  presents  itself 
as  one  of  the  great  principles  of  nature,  inviting  equally 
with  gravitation,  or  light,  or  magnetism,  or  electricity,  the 
study  of  every  liberal  and  inquiring  mind.  This  I  know 
has  not  been  so  regarded,  but  it  is  coming  to  be  so  more 
and  more.  It  ought,  at  least,  to  enter  somewhat  largely 
into  every  course  of  liberal  education,  and  I  trust  that  in 
one  college  at  least,  more  will  be  done  with  reference  to 
it  than  has  been  done. 

On  this  point  physicians  themselves  have  perhaps  been 
in  fault,  or  at  least  have  misjudged.  They  have  been 
inclined  to  regard  the  whole  domain  as  their  own,  and  to 
publish  books,  especially  on  human  physiology,  solely  for 
the  use  of  the  profession.  This,  however,  has  been  much 
less  the  case  within  the  last  few  years,  and  the  change  c£ui- 
not  fail  to  be  advantageous  both  to  the  public  and  to  the 
profession.  It  will  be  advantageous  to  the  public,  because, 
by  giving  them  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of  health,  which 
are  nothing  more  than  the  conditions  on  which  the  princi- 
ple of  life  will  act  with  regularity,  much  disease  will  be 
prevented ;  and  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  the  profession, 
because  it  will  furnish  the  only  possible  guard  against 
the  prevalence  of  quackery,  which  is  found  to  deposit  its 
eggs  and  mature  its  growth  upon  ignorance  alone.  Nor 
would  it  encroach  upon  the  proper  province  or  science  of 
the  physician,  if  the  whole  of  physiology  were  well  under- 
stood by  the  community  ;  for  though  the  principle  of  life 
26 


202 

lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  science  of  the  physician,  yet 
if  it  were  like  gravitation,  and  never  irregular  in  its  action, 
there  would  be  no  physicians  or  science  of  medicine. 
The  laws  of  life  manifested  in  regular  action  ought  to  be 
understood  by  every  body,  so  far  at  least  as  is  necessary 
to  preserve  health.  It  is  only  as  it  manifests  itself  in 
diseased  action,  that  the  principle  of  life  lies  at  the  foun- 
dation of  medical  science.  Diseased  action,  and  the 
means  of  controlling  it — diseases  and  remedies — these  are 
the  appropriate  subjects  of  the  study  of  the  physician. 

As  a  prerequisite  to  the  knowledge  of  diseases,  anatomy 
and  physiology  are  necessary  ;  to  the  knowledge  of  rem- 
edies, chemistry  and  botany.  No  physician  can  be  fully 
qualified  to  practice  his  profession  unless  he  is  acquainted 
with  these  sciences ;  and  the  field  of  observation  and  of 
general  cultivation  to  the  mind  which  they  open  is  so 
wide,  that  from  its  connection  with  them,  if  from  nothing 
else,  the  profession  of  medicine  would  be  entitled  to  the 
rank  of  a  liberal  profession. 

In  these  preliminary  sciences  great  advances  have  been 
made  within  the  memory  of  man.  It  was  a  great  step 
when  Bichat  discovered  the  difi'erent  tissues  and  it  was 
found  that  the  character  and  duration  of  disease  was  very 
much  dependent  upon  the  tissue  in  which  it  was  seated. 
This  laid  open  at  once  a  new  and  scientific  ground  both 
of  diagnosis  and  of  prognosis.  Of  perhaps  equal  impor- 
tance have  been  some  of  the  discoveries  made  in  reference 
to  the  uses  and  sympathies  of  different  parts  of  the  ner- 
vous system.  ''  Botany,"  as  has  been  remarked,  "  is  no 
longer  an  overgrown  accumulation  of  synonyms  and 
absurdities.  It  no  longer  is  deformed  by  the  ignorance, 
the  want  of  method,  and  the  lack  of  fertility  of  invention 
of  its  historians,  as  it  had  been  rendered  by  the  followers 
of  Linnoeus."  Chemistry  is  constantly  bringing  to  light 
new  substances,  or  bringing  into  a  more  convenient  and 
effective  form  those  already  known  ;  and  now,  both  chem- 


203 

istry  and  botany  conspire  to  constitute  a  materia  medica 
such  as  was  never  dreamed  of  by  Paracelsus  himself. 

The  knowledge  acquired  by  the  physician  in  these 
prerequisite  sciences  is  scientific  knowledge.  The  ques- 
tion then  arises  whether  the  phenomena  of  diseased  action 
are  so  uniform  and  so  subject  to  observation,  that  they  can 
be  classified,  and  that  the  knowledge  of  them  call  consti- 
tute a  science.  This  question,  if  we  must  answer  it  with- 
out qualification,  must  certainly  be  answered  in  the  affirm- 
ative. In  a  majority  of  cases  the  phenomena  of  diseased 
action  do  occur  so  uniformly  that  we  may  bestow  upon  a 
succession  of  them,  or  as  some  would  say,  upon  their 
cause,  a  name,  and  they  may  be  so  described  as  to  be 
recognized  by  others.  But  while  this  is  true,  it  is  yet  at 
this  point  that  the  trouble  of  the  practical  physician 
begins.  If  there  are  some  diseases,  the  symptoms  and 
course  of  which  are  so  uniform  that  they  were  as  well 
described  by  Hippocrates  as  they  could  be  now,  this  is 
rarely  the  case.  From  physical  or  moral  causes  diseases 
are  almost  constantly  changing  their  type  ;  they  often 
become  complicated  ;  when  they  are  difi'erent,  the  symp- 
toms are  sometimes  apparently  the  same,  and  the  same 
disease  often  manifests  itself  by  different  symptoms. 
Hence  it  may  become  a  matter  of  great  difficulty  to  ascer- 
tain the  true  nature  and  the  primary  seat  of  a  disease.  In 
such  cases  the  most  experienced  physicians  will  sometimes 
disagree,  one  placing  it  in  the  intestines,  the  other  in  the 
liver ;  one  in  the  lungs,  the  other  in  the  stomach.  In 
judging  of  such  cases,  experience  must  evidently  be  of 
great  service,  but  experience  in  this  case  cannot  be  trans- 
ferred. The  grounds  of  judgment  are  of  such  a  nature 
that  they  cannot  be  described,  and  when  a  skilful  physi- 
cian dies,  much  of  his  most  valuable  knowledge  must  die 
with  him.  Perhaps  science  and  accumulated  observation 
may  do  more  than  they  have  yet  done  to  relieve  this  diffi- 
culty ;    still  there   must  always  remain,   in  the  progress 


204 

of  the  young  physician,  a  degree  of  uncertainty  and  a 
"  Slough  of  Despond,"  at  this  spot. 

But  the  great  difficuUy  is  yet  to  come.  Suppose  the 
disease  to  be  known.  The  question  then  is,  Can  it  be 
cured  ?  It  is  obvious  that  prehminary  science  is  of  no 
consequence  except  as  it  can  be  successfully  applied  at 
this  point.  What  the  patient  wishes,  is  to  be  cured.  He 
cares  nothing  about  the  claims  of  science,  as  such,  or  the 
pretensions  of  quacks,  or  the  modus  operandi  of  medicines. 
It  is  at  this  point  that  the  value  of  the  profession  to  the 
public  must  be  decided.  Do  more  persons  recover  from 
disease  under  medical  treatment  than  would  recover  with- 
out it  ?  On  this  point  the  community  seem  to  have  no 
doubt.  There  are,  indeed,  some  persons  whose  general 
turn  is  towards  sarcasm  and  disparagement,  from  whose 
conversation  you  would  infer  that  the  doctors  kill  more 
than  they  cure  ;  but  we  find  that  when  they  or  their 
friends  become  sick,  they  are  as  ready  to  send  for  a 
doctor  as  any  one  else.  The  profession  is  useful,  greatly 
so.  Still,  if  we  ask  here  whether  the  application  of  sci- 
entific knowledge  to  the  cure  of  diseases  is  itself  scientific 
— whether  it  can  be  done  with  certainty  in  regard  to  the 
result — we  must  answer.  No. 

When  the  manufacturer  wishes  to  form  a  particular  dye, 
he  has  only  to  mix  the  ingredients  in  the  proper  propor- 
tions, and  the  result  will  invariably  follow.  When  the 
physician  wishes  to  make  an  effervescing  draught,  he  has 
only  to  mix  lemon  juice  and  the  carbonate  of  soda,  and  he 
is  sure  of  the  effect.  But  in  the  application  of  knowledge 
to  the  cure  of  diseases,  however  scientific  it  may  be,  there 
must  always  remain  some  degree  of  uncertainty  in  regard 
to  two  points.  One  is,  whether  the  medicine  will  produce 
th(?  eff'ect  intended  ;  and  the  other,  whether  that  is  the 
effect  which  ought  to  be  produced.  The  physician,  for 
example,  gives  calomel  with  the  intention  of  producing 
salivation  ;   but  it  is  well  known  that  the  medicine  in  this 


205 

case  will  not  act  like  the  soda  and  the  acid,  and  that  physi- 
cians often  wish  and  intend  to  produce  this  effect  without 
accomplishing  it.  The  same  quantity  given  in  the  same 
manner  will  usually  salivate,  but  the  agencies  concerned 
here  are  complicated,  and  there  may  be  something  in  the 
constitution,  or  in  the  nature  of  the  disease,  that  will  pre- 
vent it.  This,  then,  is  the  first  source  of  uncertainty. 
The  question  then  arises,  If  salivation  be  produced,  will  it 
benefit  the  patient  ?  It  may  ;  and  it  may  too  be  the  cause 
of  his  death,  when  he  would  otherwise  recover.  Here,  in 
truth,  lies  the  great  difficulty  and  source  of  anxiety — it 
is  to  know  what  ought  to  be  done.  Here  is  a  patient, 
threatened  with  a  fever.  Will  you  stimulate,  or  deplete  ? 
*  Stimulate,'  says  the  Brunonian.  <  You  might  as  well 
pour  oil  upon  fire,'  says  the  follower  of  Cullen.  '  But,' 
replies  the  Brunonian,  '  connected  with  this  excitement 
there  is  real  debility.  Put  your  hand  to  the  wheels  of 
life  and  roll  them  over  the  obstacle,  and  then  they  will  go 
on  smoothly.'  Now  in  some  fevers,  and  in  some  stages 
of  them,  this  may  undoubtedly  be  done  ;  and  when  it  can 
be,  the  patient  is  greatly  pleased,  and  the  cure  is  so  prompt, 
and  the  mode  of  it  so  pleasant,  that  the  doctor  gains  much 
credit.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  if  he  fails 
to  roll  the  wheel  quite  over,  it  will  come  back  with  a 
force  that  generally  renders  the  case  hopeless.  Again  ; 
among  those  who  deplete,  there  are  two  courses.  Some 
are  prompt  in  their  practice  ;  use  the  lancet  and  emetics 
freely,  and  thus  seek  to  break  up  the  disease.  Others  are 
more  cautious,  and  reserve  the  strength  of  the  constitu- 
tion for  the  turning  point  of  the  disease. 

Now  let  a  man  adopt  either  of  these  courses,  and  it  will 
happen,  either  in  consequence  of  the  treatment,  or  in  spite 
of  it,  that  some  will  die  and  some  will  recover.  The  dis- 
ease is  the  same,  it  has  the  same  name  in  both  cases,  but 
the  result  is  different.  Some  modifying  circumstance  that 
was  inappreciable,  has  come  in.     In  some  cases,  such  cir- 


206 

cumstances  may  come  to  be  known,  but  often  not  without 
the  sacrifice  of  life.  I  well  remember  hearing  it  stated 
from  this  place,  by  an  able  lecturer  and  most  excellent 
man,  that  when  he  was  settled  in  an  upland  and  hilly 
country,  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  treating  a  particular 
fever  successfully  by  the  lancet  and  emetics.  He  after- 
wards removed  to  a  section  that  was  more  flat,  where 
there  was  a  tendency  to  fever  and  ague.  Here  he  soon 
had  several  cases  of  what  seemed  to  him  the  same  fever 
to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  He  treated  it  in  the 
same  way,  and  all  his  patients  died.  He  then  changed 
his  course,  and  stimulated  his  patients,  and  they  all  recov- 
ered. The  doctor  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  his  expe- 
rience was  gained  at  the  expense  of  the  lives  of  his 
patients.  It  is  well  known  that  persons  of  intemperate 
habits  cannot  be  treated  as  they  otherwise  might  be,  and 
to  make  the  proper  allowance  is  like  steering  between 
Scylla  and  Charybdis.  If  they  are  not  bled,  the  inflam- 
mation will  kill  them  ;  if  they  are,  it  must  be  done  with 
great  caution,  or  the  bleeding  will  kill  them.  Diseases 
may  be  called  by  the  same  name,  but  probably  no  two 
cases  were  ever  precisely  alike,  and  the  general  evidence 
on  which  the  physician  must  proceed  is  that  of  analogy 
rather  than  of  experience.  Each  new  case  presents  some- 
thing peculiar  and  may  require  modified  treatment. 
General  principles  there  are,  but  in  the  application  of 
these  to  individual  cases  there  is  room  for  every  variety 
of  skill,  and  the  most  sagacious  must  often  be  left  in 
painful  uncertainty. 

Here  then,  as  it  seems  to  me,  we  find  the  grand  pecu- 
liarity of  the  medical  art.  It  consists  in  the  uncertainty 
that  must  often  rest  upon  the  proper  course  of  action, 
combined  with  the  great  responsibility  involved  in  acting 
at  all.  Life,  priceless  life  is  at  stake,  it  is  hanging  on  the 
decision  of  the  physician,  and  that  decision  must  be 
based,  not  upon  scientific  and  certain,  but  upon  probable 


207 

evidence.  In  this  respect,  and  as  having  the  actual 
charge  of  a  patient,  the  physician  is  hke  the  man  whose 
business  it  is  to  conduct  boats  down  the  Mississippi.  He 
is  well  provided  with  oars  and  setting  poles,  he  knows 
the  general  course  of  the  stream,  there  are  many  diflicult 
points,  and  hidden  snags  which  he  will  pass  safely,  when 
one  of  less  experience  would  be  lost.  But  sometimes  the 
stream  shifts  its  bed,  and  then  he  gets  aground  by  at- 
tempting to  go  the  old  way ;  sometimes,  when  he  sup- 
poses all  is  well,  he  suddenly  strikes  a  new  snag  where 
he  had  gone  safely  before  ;  and  sometimes  he  is  mortified 
to  see  some  squatter  along  the  shore  put  out,  and  by  a 
short  cut  run  a  boat  through  some  cove  where  he  would 
never  have  thought  of  venturing,  and  go  on  with  flying 
colors  far  before  him.  Every  sensible  man  would  choose 
to  entrust  his  boat  to  one  acquainted  with  the  stream ; 
still,  with  all  possible  vigilance,  he  cannot  be  sure  of  suc- 
cess till  the  course  of  the  stream  shall  be  uniform,  and  it 
shall  cease  to  wash  new  trees  into  its  bed. 

Such,  then,  is  the  relation  of  medical  science  to  the 
practice  of  the  art.  It  is  best  compared  to  that  which 
the  science  of  navigation  bears  to  the  conducting  of  a 
ship  on  the  ocean.  In  both,  while  science  is  necessary, 
there  is  room  for  much  practical  skill,  and  a  kind  of 
knowledge  which  no  lectures,  and  no  science  can  ever 
give  ;  and  in  both,  the  adverse  influences  may  be  so  strong 
that  no  science  and  no  skill  can  avail  any  thing. 

From  what  has  now  been  said  I  remark  here,  and  be- 
fore passing  to  the  other  branch  of  our  subject,  that  we 
may  see  why  there  is  such  a  difference  between  the  study 
and  the  practice  of  medicine.  The  study  is  pleasant,  but 
the  practice,  to  say  nothing  of  physical  exposure,  must 
often  lead  to  great  perplexity  and  trial  of  the  feelings. 

We  see,  also,  how  it  happens  that  physicians  are  so 
often  both  praised  and  censured  when  they  do  not  deserve 
it,  and  what  peculiar  facilities  and  temptations  there  are 
to  the  disparaging  of  each  other. 


208 

f  We  see,  also,  why  this  profession  always  has  been,  and 
probably  always  will  be,  n^t  to  that  of  politics,  the 
favorite  resort  of  quacks.  The  real  uncertainty  that  often 
exists  on  the  part  of  the  best  physicians,  together  with 
the  great  ignorance  of  the  mass  of  the  community  on 
medical  subjects,  form  a  sort  of  jungle  into  which  they 
can  retreat  with  comparative  safety. 

Having  thus  spol^en  on  the  relation  which  the  scien- 
tific knowledge  of  the  physician  bears  to  practical  skill,  I 
proceed,  as  was  proposed,  to  some  remarks  on  the  quali- 
ties of  mind  which  he  ought  especially  to  cultivate.  • 

From  the  fact  that  the  science  of  medicine  is  to  be  ap- 
plied to  the  practice  of  the  art,  not  by  any  precise  rules, 
but  by  the  constant  exercise  of  judgment  founded  on  ob- 
servation, I  should  place  the  power  of  accurate  observa- 
tion foremost  among  those  which  a  physician  ought  to 
cultivate.  In  this  there  is  as  much  difference  among  men 
as  if  phrenology  were  true.  To  every  disease,  to  every 
kind  of  pain,  there  is  a  natural  language — something  in 
the  position,  the  breathing,  the  eye,  the  skin,  the  expres- 
sion, which,  though  it  may  be  exceedingly  slight,  the 
practised  eye  readily  detects.  Hence  one  man  will  tell, 
as  soon  as  he  looks  at  a  patient,  what  the  disease  is ; 
while  another,  with  the  same  symptoms  before  him, 
though  he  has  eyes,  does  not  see.  We  have  all  known 
men  celebrated  for  the  readiness  with  which  they  detect 
the  nature  and  seat  of  disease.  This  is  the  first  step 
towards  a  cure.  And  then,  in  the  progress  of  a  disease 
there  is  the  same  difference  in  the  readiness  with  which 
men  notice  the  effect  of  remedies,  and  the  phases  of  the 
disease  requiring  a  change  of  treatment. 

This  power  of  observation  often  exists  in  combination 
with  very  moderate  powers  of  reflection  and  generaliza- 
tion, which  some  would  place  first.  Where  this  is  so, 
the  individual  will  be  more  of  a  physician  than  he  is  of 
a  man ;  and  will  succeed  better  in  his  profession  than 


209 

we  should  expect  from  his  general  intellectual  power. 
There  is  between  these  two  powers  no  incompatibility ; 
but  in  the  present  limited  state  of  the  human  faculties 
they  are  seldom  combined  in  a  high  degree,  and  one  is 
often  cultivated  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other.  If  Presi- 
dent Edwards,  who,  it  is  said,  did  not  know  his  own  cow, 
could  ever  have  made  a  good  physician,  it  would  have 
required  a  strong  effort.  A  great  physician,  a  Sydenham, 
a  Boerhave,  a  Cullen,  a  Rush,  is  formed  only  when  there 
is  united  with  uncommon  powers  of  observation,  powers 
of  generalization  and  reflection,  such  as  will  enable  their 
possessor  to  group  his  facts  and  present  them  as  a  system. 
The  practitioner  is  skilful  as  he  discriminates  case  from 
case,  adjusting  his  treatment  to  every  individual  in  all  the 
varieties  of  temperament,  season  of  the  year,  and  local 
situation.  His  business  is,  knowing  that  there  are  resem- 
blances in  every  case,  to  perceive  the  differences.  The 
business  of  the  systematizer,  the  writer  and  the  lecturer, 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  knowing  that  there  are  differences, 
to  perceive  resemblances  and  class  cases  together.  He 
who  can  do  both  these  will  rise  to  the  highest  point  in 
his  profession.  The  best  practitioners,  however,  are  gene- 
rally those  whose  tendency  is  to  observation ;  and  the 
best  lecturers,  those  whose  tendency  is  to  reflection.  It 
will  not  follow,  therefore,  because  a  man  is  an  able  writer 
and  lecturer,  that  he  is  a  good  practitioner.  Give  such 
an  one  general  principles,  and  he  will  manage  them  to  a 
charm  ;  but  give  him  a  case  under  them,  and  many  a  man 
that  he  looks  down  upon  will  manage  it  better  than  he. 
Hence,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  success  in  this  pro- 
fession does  not  always  correspond  with  general  mental 
power.  That  young  man  is  to  be  pitied,  who  has  learning 
and  a  knowledge  of  general  principles,  when  he  sees  men, 
far  his  inferiors,  running  away  with  all  the  practice. 
Nothing  is  more  common  than  this,  and  it  is  right.  No 
man  ought  to  succeed,  who  will  not  descend  to  the  mi- 
27 


210 

nutiae  and  undergo  the  drudgery  of  the  profession ;  and  if 
his  reflective  faculties  predominate  so  as  to  disqualify  him 
for  this,  then  he  has  mistaken  his  calling,  and  has  no  right 
to  make  splenetic  remarks  about  the  ignorance  and  injus- 
tice of  the  world. 

Nor  am  I  sure  that  I  should  place  those  higher  powers, 
as  they  may  properly  be  called,  of  reflection  and  generali- 
zation, second  among  the  qualities  which  a  physician 
should  cultivate  if  he  would  be  successful.  I  think  I 
should  give  that  place  rather  to  a  quality  that,  where  it 
exists,  is  generally  partly  constitutional  and  partly  moral — 
a  feeling  of  heartfelt  interest  in  his  patients.  This  will 
operate  in  two  ways.  It  will  invigorate  and  quicken, 
more  than  any  thing  else,  the  powers  of  observation. 
When  the  navigator  feels  a  strong  interest  in  the  safety  of 
the  cargo,  how  frequently  does  he  watch  the  horizon ! 
how  careful  is  he  whom  he  places  at  the  helm !  How 
masterly  do  the  senses  of  touch  and  hearing  become  when 
sight  is  gone,  simply  because  they  are  educated,  and 
interest  and  attention  are  concentrated  upon  them  !  A 
heartfelt  interest  in  his  patients,  and  that  alone,  will 
result,  on  the  part  of  a  physician,  in  a  general  education 
of  the  senses,  and  a  watchfulness  in  particular  instances, 
of  more  practical  value  than  much  power  of  reflection  and 
general  combination.  Another  mode  in  which  such  an 
interest  contributes  to  success,  is  by  gaining  the  confidence 
of  the  patient.  In  many  diseases  this  is  of  great  impor- 
tance, and  the  visit  of  such  a  physician  does  more  good 
than  his  medicine. 

If  now,  to  these  qualities,  the  physician  can  add  those 
already  mentioned  as  necessary  to  the  lecturer  and  the 
writer,  which  not  only  add  to  success  in  practice,  bat 
give  dignity  to  the  profession,  he  will  be  distinguished 
both  as  a  physician  and  as  a  man,  and  may  take  a  rank  in 
society,  and  will  have  means  of  doing  good,  such  as  to 
give  ample  scope  whether  to  his  ambitious  or  his  benevo- 
lent feelings. 


211 

I  have  thus  spoken,  in  accordance  with  the  plan  pro*- 
posed ;  and  in  connection  with  what  I  have  said,  the 
reflection  that  strikes  my  mind  most  forcibly  relates  to 
the  responsible  nature  of  the  medical  profession.  To  it 
is  often  intrusted  the  health  and  consequently  the  lives 
of  the  community.  To  the  physician,  husbands  and  wives, 
parents  and  children,  intrust  that  which  is  dearer  to  them 
than  any  thing  on  earth,  and  the  injury  is  deep,  and  the 
unhappiness  bitter  when,  from  unfaithfulness,  or  unfitness, 
he  fails  to  do  all  that  ought  to  be  done,  and  life  is  lost. 
If  there  ever  was  a  man  who  was  bound  to  have  all  his 
faculties  about  him,  and  to  avoid  every  habit  that  would 
impair  them  in  any  degree,  the  physician  is  that  man. 
Of  all  others  he  ought  to  avoid  the  least  approach  towards 
intemperance.  It  is  enough  for  the  intemperate  man  to 
expose  his  own  life  as  he  staggers  along  the  street,  or 
holds  the  reins  with  unsteady  hand  ;  but  the  intemperate 
physician  not  only  exposes  his  own  life,  but  the  life  of 
every  patient,  as  he  haunts  his  bedside  with  foul  breath, 
and  reeling  judgment,  and  deceptive  senses,  and  often 
with  his  long  maudlin  chat.  There  was  a  time  when 
intemperance  was  much  more  prevalent  among  physicians 
than  at  present ;  but  the  profession  took  a  noble  stand  on 
this  subject,  one  for  which  it  deserves  the  thanks  of  the 
community,  and  now,  though  there  are  a  few  relics  of 
former  times  who  seem,  like  their  own  specimens  of  mor- 
bid anatomy,  to  be  preserved  in  spirits,  yet  as  a  whole,  I 
believe  the  medical  profession  is  remarkably  free  from 
this  vice. 

But  if  a  physician  may  not  fall  into  positive  vice, 
neither  may  he  be  indolent.  It  is  not  always  a  sufficient 
justification,  when  a  case  is  not  properly  treated,  to  say 
that  he  did  the  best  he  knew  how  to  do.  It  may  be  he 
ought  to  have  known  better.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
a  criminal  ignorance.  How  does  the  indolent  or  dissipated 
medical  student  know  that  he  is  not  putting  the  knife  to 


212 

the  throat  of  some  future  patient,  while  he  is  spending  in 
folly  or  something  worse,  the  time  that  ought  to  be  given 
to  preparation  for  his  responsible  duties  ?  The  physician 
is  bound  to  know  every  thing  in  regard  to  the  proper 
treatment  of  diseases  that  he  can  know,  and  hence  the 
imperative  obligation  that  rests  upon  him  to  be  a  man  of 
industrious  habits.  Doubtless  there  are  many  instances 
of  malpractice  that  never  reach  the  tribunals  of  justice, 
that  are  never  suspected  by  the  friends,  or  even  by  the 
physician  himself,  which  yet  involve  moral  guilt. 

Another  obvious  reflection  is,  that  the  proper  education 
of  physicians  is  a  matter  of  interest  to  the  whole  com- 
munity. If  there  are  fixed  principles,  then  the  degree  of 
difficulty  in  their  application  of  which  I  have  spoken, 
only  shows  the  need  of  the  greater  skill,  and  furnishes  the 
strongest  possible  reason  why  the  community  should  not 
encourage  ignorance,  pretension,  rashness,  quackery  in 
any  of  its  forms.  The  community  ought  to  see  to  it  that 
they  have  good  physicians.  They  ought  to  encourage 
and  sustain  those  institutions  which  are  necessary  for 
their  full  education. 

I  will  only  add  that  if  the  responsibilities  of  the  physi- 
cian are  peculiar,  so  are  his  rewards.  He  has,  set  before 
him,  not  only  a  general  reputation  as  a  man  of  science, 
but  those  higher  rewards  of  a  moral  kind  which  satisfy 
the  heart.  Let  him,  in  addition  to  the  qualities  already 
mentioned,  be  possessed  of  a  moral  and  religious  character 
in  which  his  patients  and  the  community  can  have  entire 
confidence,  and  there  are  few  persons  who  can  become 
the  object  of  so  much  attachment  and  respect.  He  be- 
comes the  family  physician.  With  him  they  pass  through 
trying  scenes.  With  his  eff*orts  and  skill  are  associated 
relief  from  pain,  recovery  from  sickness,  the  restoration  of 
themselves  or  friends  from  the  grave.  No  other,  though 
equally  skilful,  can  fill  his  place,  for  he  knows  their  con- 
stitution, and  they  have  been  used  to  him.     He  is  the 


213 

friend  of  the  poor.  In  their  distress  he  has  often  visited 
them  without  the  hope  of  a  fee,  and  he  can  have  access 
to  them  for  their  physical  and  moral  benefit  in  a  way  that 
no  other  man  can.  Nor  will  his  sympathies  be  confined 
to  bodily  suffering.  He  will  be  able  to  speak  words  of 
comfort  to  the  troubled  spirit,  and  will  lead  those  whom 
he  may,  in  the  hour  of  their  extremity,  to  apply  to  the 
Great  Physician,  for  the  cure  of  those  deeper  maladies 
which  his  art  cannot  reach.  When  such  a  man  goes 
down  from  the  land  of  the  living,  he  leaves  a  place  which 
cannot  be  filled,  and  is  followed  by  the  blessings  of  a 
bereaved  and  a  grateful  community. 


ADDRESS, 

DELIVERED  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  WILLISTON  SEMLNARY, 


December  1,  1841. 


We  are  commanded  to  rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice, 
and  to  weep  with  them  that  weep.  This  we  do  to  some 
extent  involuntarily.  God  has  given  us  a  principle  of 
sympathy,  by  which  families  and  circles  of  friends  are 
affected  by  the  joy,  the  grief,  the  hope,  the  fear,  the 
indignation  of  one  of  their  number ;  by  which  society, 
with  its  causes  of  local  feeling,  its  neighborhood  successes 
and  reverses,  its  marriages  and  its  deaths,  seems  but  as 
the  field  over  which  the  cloud  and  the  sunshine  are 
passing.  Hence  it  is  that  in  a  population  so  homogeneous 
as  that  of  New  England,  we  have  only  to  awaken  feeling 
upon  some  subject  of  common  interest,  and  a  wave  of 
sympathy  will  commence,  and  widen  till  it  extends  over 
the  whole  surface.  Drop  the  pebble  in,  and  the  circling 
waters  will  show  it.  This  has  been  done  at  this  spot. 
A  movement  has  been  commenced  here  upon  a  subject 
most  nearly  aflfecting  the  community  ;  it  has  been  carried 
forward  by  individual  munificence  and  energy  ;  and  it 
has  now  reached  a  point  when  it  is  proper  that  we  should 
come  together  and  mingle  our  feelings  and  sympathies  in 
view  of  its  anticipated  results. 


215 

Nor  is  it  surprising,  when  we  look  at  the  present  posi- 
tion of  things  in  this  country,  and  at  the  results  which 
may  be  reasonably  anticipated,  that  so  much  interest 
should  be  felt.  This  does  not  arise  solely  from  an  unusual 
manifestation  of  individual  liberality  and  public  spirit 
wisely  directed,  but  from  the  fact  that  the  establishment 
of  such  an  institution  as  this  is  an  indication  of  a  general 
movement,  a  rising  tide,  coincident  with  individual  effort ; 
and  from  the  hope  and  conviction  that  though  this  insti- 
tution may  just  now  be  borne  up  by  a  wave  and  placed 
for  a  time  above  high  water  mark,  yet  that  ere  long  the 
waters  will  come  up  and  surround  it,  and  perhaps  bear 
others  still  farther  on.  It  marks,  and  tends  to  facilitate, 
an  advancement  in  that  system  of  education  which  was 
the  object  of  so  much  solicitude  to  our  fathers,  and 
upon  which  individual  happiness  and  the  public  welfare 
so  much  depend. 

That  individual  happiness  is  connected  with  extensive 
and  accurate  information  respecting  the  past,  with  a  per- 
ception of  facts,  and  laws,  and  relations,  as  they  exist  in 
God's  universe,  and  with  that  general  culture  of  mind 
which  the  acquisition  of  such  knowledge  implies  and 
induces,  cannot  admit  of  a  question.  This  is  generally 
admitted,  but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  it  is  upon  right 
grounds  ;  and  education  can  never  do  for  man  what  it 
ought,  till  it  is  pursued  with  reference  to  its  highest  ends. 

Many  suppose  that  the  chief  advantage  of  education  to 
the  individual  arises  from  the  facility  it  gives  him  to 
acquire  property,  or  to  take  a  better  relative  standing 
among  his  fellow  men.  This  view  of  education,  so  far  as 
it  is  true,  ought  not  perhajis  to  be  discouraged.  If  these 
advantages  are  to  be  gained  by  it,  I  see  no  reason  why 
they  should  not  be  thus  sought,  more  than  I  do  why  men 
should  not  put  their  sons  to  karn  mechanical  trades,  or 
behind  the  counter,  with  the  same  view.  But  this  is  a 
low  and  mercenary  view,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that 


216 

if  it  were  universal,  all  that  now  excites  the  enthusiasm 
and  warm  devotion  of  the  highest  order  of  minds  would 
be  gone.  The  moment  that  takes  place,  literature  is 
prostituted,  and  its  institutions,  being  but  the  means  of  a 
selfish  advancement  to  a  few,  will  lose  their  honor,  and 
perhaps  be  trampled  in  the  dust. 

But  to  me  it  seems  that  if  there  is  any  one  thing  that 
may  be  regarded  as  an  end  and  not  as  a  means,  it  is  the 
expansion,  by  a  true  culture,  of  the  mind  of  man.  Wealth 
is  a  means,  place  and  power  are  means,  but  this  is  an  end. 
This  is  in  fact  the  highest  result  that  is  wrought  out,  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  the  very  result  intended 
to  be  wrought  out,  by  the  whole  framework  and  the 
steady  course  of  nature.  This  framework  cannot  stand, 
this  wonderful  harmony  cannot  be  preserved,  for  its  own 
sake.  It  subserves,  indeed,  material  uses,  it  ministers  to 
bodily  wants,  but  it  has  higher  uses  than  these,  to  which 
material  uses  and  bodily  wants  are  themselves  subservient. 
The  opening  flower,  the  ripening  harvest,  the  falling  leaf, 
the  running  water,  the  starry  concave,  have  a  voice  that 
speaks  to  the  spirit  of  man,  to  instruct  him,  and  to  lead 
him  in  the  way  that  is  good.  It  is  not,  therefore,  in  the 
city  only,  in  the  chief  places  of  concourse,  that  wisdom 
cries  and  understanding  utters  her  voice  ;  it  is  also  in  the 
forest,  on  the  hill-top,  by  the  side  of  the  still  river.  Who- 
ever will  observe  the  constitution  of  nature  with  reference 
to  this,  will  see  that  it  is  wonderfully  adapted  to  chasten 
and  elevate  the  feelings,  to  awaken  curiosity,  and  to  call 
forth  the  observing  and  reflecting  powers  of  the  mind. 
This  is  an  end  which  enters  into  our  very  conception  of 
man  as  a  rational  and  a  progressive  being  ;  we  can  con- 
ceive of  him  as  having  no  bodily  wants,  oi'as  having  those 
wants  supplied  without  labor  ;  we  can  conceive  of  him  as 
divested  of  those  selfish  and  ambitious  passions  which  are 
now  too  often  the  motives  to  mental  eftbrt  ;  but  we  can- 
not conceive  of  him  as  acting  in  his  true  character  as  a 


217 

man,  who  is  to  become  in  knowledge  and  virtue  what 
God  intends  him  to  be,  except  in  connection  with  the 
expansion  of  his  higher  powers.  The  more  these  are 
strengthened  and  expanded,  the  stronger  is  our  feeUng  of 
satisfaction,  and  the  stronger  would  it  be  even  though 
man  had  no  physical  wants  to  which  he  might  cause  sci- 
ence to  minister.  We  love  to  see  the  river  increase  as  it 
moves  onwards  ;  we  love  to  see  the  pillar  of  light  in  the 
aurora  borealis  shoot  upwards  till  it  reaches  the  zenith. 
Men  speak  of  material  beauty,  and  well  they  may  in  such 
a  world  as  this  ;  but  to  me  there  is  no  object  upon  which 
the  eye  can  rest  with  so  much  satisfaction,  as  upon  a  com- 
munity of  young  men  in  a  course  of  true  progress,  coming 
forward  to  be  what  they  ought  to  be,  and  to  lay  the  fruits 
of  their  ripening  faculties  upon  the  altar  of  the  public 
good. 

It  is  not  then  to  elevate  some  above  others,  or  to  give 
them  an  undue  advantage,  that  seminaries  like  this  and 
our  higher  seminaries  are  established.  It  is  to  elevate  the 
nature  of  man,  to  quicken  and  call  forth  all  that  is  good 
within  him ;  and  since,  in  a  government  like  ours,  there 
will  always  be  a  continuity  from  the  highest  to  the  low- 
est, it  is  to  do  what  we  can  to  elevate  the  whole  mass.  It 
is  to  join  the  top  of  the  water-spout  to  the  cloud,  so  that 
the  lowest  drop  may  be  taken  up  and  float  in  the  upper 
sky.  It  is  this  high  and  disinterested  idea  of  the  elevation 
of  man,  which  can,  and  ought  to  be  felt  by  all,  that  gives 
their  chief  interest,  when  they  are  estimated  as  they 
should  be,  to  the  institutions  of  religion  and  of  learning  in 
a  country.  This  makes  them  points  around  which  asso- 
ciations cluster  that  bind  men  together  in  links  as  strong 
as  steel.  They  are  like  the  great  men  of  a  country  in 
whom  all  have  a  property,  and  whose  greatness  tends  to 
elevate  all.  But  let  these  points  vanish,  let  religion  and 
learning  cease  to  have  their  sanctuaries,  and  there  would 
be  little  left  which  a  good  man  would  wish  to  call  his 
28 


218 

country.  I  dwell  on  this  subject  here,  because  it  will  be 
seen  that  if  the  true  and  highest  end  of  education  is  lost 
sight  of,  buildings  and  apparatus  can  be  of  but  little 
worth. 

But  if  it  is  so  obvious  that  individual  happiness  depends 
upon  proper  culture,  the  connection  between  that  and  the 
public  welfare,  in  a  country  like  this,  is  not  less  so.  The 
first  and  fundamental  proposition  in  our  government  is, 
that  the  people  must  rule.  Their  will,  expressed  accord- 
ing to  the  forms  of  a  constitution  which  they  have  them- 
selves adopted,  is  and  must  be,  the  law.  But  a  second 
and  perhaps  equally  important  proposition  is,  that  the 
people  should  be  so  educated  as  to  be  fitted  to  rule  well. 
These  are  the  fundamental  principles  of  a  republican 
government.  If  they,  shall  be  maintained,  then  the  super- 
ficial divisions  and  rents  of  party  will  not  extend  to  the 
foundation,  and  the  building  will  stand.  If  not,  there  is 
no  charm  in  the  forms  of  a  free  government  by  which 
they  can  preserve  themselves,  nor  any  alchemy  in  any 
forms  by  which  intelligence,  and  justice,  and  purity,  and 
kindness,  can  be  extracted  from  the  associated  action  of 
men,  ignorant,  unprincipled,  intemperate,  and  selfish. 

That  the  people  can  be  thus  educated  there  is  no  doubt. 
The  question  whether  they  will  be,  is  of  greater  interest 
than  any  other.  But  if  they  are  to  have  an  education 
that  will  meet  the  wants  of  society  now,  it  must  be  one 
that  will  be  to  it  a  stronger  cement  than  has  been  needed 
heretofore.  We  are  not,  as  in  the  times  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, pressed  together  by  a  force  from  without ;  the  great 
men  of  those  days  are  gone,  and  we  have  none  like  them 
who  can  become  points  of  union  within.  More  men  than 
formerly  look  to  the  government  as  a  means  of  subsistence 
through  office,  rather  than  as  the  dispenser  of  equal  and 
general  blessings,  thus  increasing  the  tendency  to  faction 
and  corruption.  The  amount  of  business  and  the  facili- 
ties of  intercourse  stimulate  the  activity  and  the  passions 


219 

of  men  to  a  higher  point  than  ever  before  ;  and  who  can 
doubt,  when  these  facihties  are  still  farther  increased,  that 
there  will  be,  in  times  of  excitement,  mass  meetmgs  of 
tremendous  extent  and  power ;  and  unless  those  compos-^ 
ing  them  are  educated  as  no  people  have  ever  yet  been, 
they  will  interfere  with  the  proper  functions  of  the  gov- 
ernment and  perhaps  change  its  whole  character.  The 
whole  movement  of  society  is  accelerated,  and  it  gene- 
rates and  conducts,  more  rapidly  than  hitherto,  the  elec^ 
trie  fluid  of  excitement  and  passion.  And  while  a  higher 
and  more  general  education  is  thus  becoming  indispen- 
sable, the  people  are  slow  in  appreciating  its  necessity. 
They  hold  on  too  strongly  to  that  thriftless  parsimony 
which  prevents  their  having  better  instructors.  There  is 
still  too,  to  a  large  extent,  an  undue  estimate  of  talent 
and  mere  intellectual  education,  as  if  that  were  all  that 
we  needed ;  and,  as  I  have  already  said,  there  is  a  low 
and  mercenary  view  of  the  great  end  of  education. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  I  believe  this  great  work 
will  be  done.  Public  sentiment  is  aroused ;  the  eye  and 
the  heart  of  Christian  benevolence  are  awake  ;  the  impor- 
tance of  moral  education  is  better  appreciated ;  and  it  is 
even  possible  we  may  yet  have  a  system  of  education 
that  shall  act  upon  the  whole  man,  the  emblem  of  which 
shall  be,  not  the  moon — cold,  cheerless,  acting  upon  the 
eye  only — but  the  sun,  pouring  forth  light  and  heat, 
knowledge  and  love,  and  calling  up  from  the  mould  of 
man's  original  faculties  the  flowers  and  the  fruits.  There 
is  too  a  Divine  Providence ;  there  is  a  Christian  Religion  ; 
and  in  connection  with  the  overruling  and  moulding 
influence  of  these,  I  feel  a  cheerful  confidence  that  this 
great  work  will  be  done,  and  that  there  will  be  wrought 
out  from  our  free  institutions  a  social  order  better  than  we 
have  yet  seen.  This  will  not  be  done  at  once,  for  the 
course  of  human  improvement  is  seldom  direct — it  is  rather 
like  that  of  the  winding  river — but  it  will  be  done.    Those 


220 

of  you  who  have  stood  upon  Mount  Holyoke  will  remem- 
ber how  your  own  Connecticut  now  reaches  far  off  to  the 
northward,  now  passes  in  a  more  direct  course  at  your 
feet,  and  then  winds,  or  rather  did  wind  around  the  great 
circuit  of  Hockinum  at  the  south,  making  scarcely  an  ell 
of  progress  for  a  mile  of  movement,  and  then  passes  off 
like  a  long  riband  of  light  towards  the  ocean.  Such  we 
must  expect  will  be  our  course — and,  if  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  extend  the  figure,  I  would  say  that  we  must 
wait  with  patience,  and  row  with  vigor,  whether  we  seem 
to  ourselves  to  be  going  backwards,  or,  as  now,  to  be 
coming  round  the  great  bend. 

But  if  this  is  to  be  done,  the  question  arises — How  ? 
To  do  it  perfectly,  we  must  have,  first,  a  right  system  of 
institutions  and  material  apparatus;  secondly,  the  right 
branches  must  be  taught ;  and  thirdly,  they  must  be 
taught  in  the  right  time  and  manner.  These  are  obviously 
the  three  conditions  of  a  perfect  system  of  education ; 
and  so  far  as  I  shall  attempt  an  answer  to  the  above  ques- 
tion, it  will  be  by  some  general  observations  on  one  or 
more  of  them. 

First,  then,  I  observe,  that  no  change  is  needed  in  our 
present  general  system.  That  system  has  grown  up  from 
the  wants  of  the  people,  and  is  complete  in  all  its  parts. 
We  have  first  the  Common  School,  where  the  whole 
people  are,  or  should  be,  taught  so  far  as  to  qualify  them 
for  the  duties  of  men  and  of  citizens.  We  have  the 
Academy,  where  all  who  choose  may  qualify  themselves 
to  enter  college,  or  to  commence,  with  a  limited  general 
preparation,  a  course  of  professional  study.  We  have 
then  the  College,  and  the  Professional  School.  These 
qualify  men  for  the  professions,  for  the  business  of  instruc- 
tion, for  legislation,  and  for  those  literary  and  scientific 
labors  which  please  and  refine  and  elevate  a  people. 
These  are  all  essential  to  a  well  organized  community. 
They  are  all  needed,  and  in  one  sense  equally  needed,  since 


221 

they  are  parts  of  one  system,  and  so  exert  a  reciprocal 
influence,  that  neither  can  be  what  it  should  be  without 
the  other. 

This  reciprocal  influence  is  what  many  are  slow  to  un- 
derstand. It  is  because  of  it  that  the  establishment  of 
this  institution,  is,  as  I  have  said,  of  general  interest.  In 
other  states  of  society,  this  would  not  be  so.  If  society 
were  divided  by  a  horizontal  line  into  diff"erent  classes,  it 
would  be  chiefly  for  the  benefit  of  one  class.  If  there 
were  no  common  schools,  as  at  the  south,  the  general 
interest  would  be  much  less,  since  it  could  not,  as  here, 
reflect  and  difl*use  its  light.  But  here  every  thing  circu- 
lates freely.  If  this  institution  prepares  better  teachers 
for  the  common  schools,  they  will  send  back  to  it  scholars 
better  prepared,  and  it  may  be  able,  after  a  time,  to  relin- 
quish to  the  common  school  some  of  its  branches,  and  to 
elevate  its  own  course.  If,  again,  it  sends  scholars  to  col- 
lege better  fitted,  college,  to  say  nothing  of  other  and 
indirect  benefits,  will  send  back  to  it  better  instructors, 
and  may,  in  its  turn,  be  able  to  relinquish  to  it  some  part 
of  its  course.  This  process  has,  indeed,  gone  on  to  some 
extent  within  my  remembrance,  but  it  needs  to  go  nuich 
farther.  I  see  no  other  way  in  which  our  general  system 
of  education  can  be  elevated.  We  need,  and  must  have, 
institutions  like  this,  which  shall  give  a  thorough  prepara- 
tion for  college  in  the  English  as  well  as  classical  depart- 
ment, and  which  shall  not  only  be  thorough  as  far  as  they 
go,  but  shall  carry  the  student  much  farther  than  he  now 
goes  in  them.  I  see  no  difiiculty  in  it,  and  I  hope  to  see 
the  day  when  almost  all  that  is  now  studied  in  the  fresh- 
man class  in  college,  especially  in  languages,  shall  be  re- 
quired for  admission,  and  shall  be  thoroughly  taught  in 
schools  like  this.  This  would  relieve  the  colleges  from 
the  heavy  load  they  are  obliged  to  drag  when  the  classes 
are  poorly  prepared,  and  would  give  them  time,  not  only 
to  be  more  full  and  thorough  in  their  present  branches  of 


222 

science,  but  to  introduce  new  ones  as  the  wants  of  the  age 
may  require. 

But  reverse  this  process,  and  the  resuhs  will  be  re- 
versed. This  nothing  can  prevent.  Hence  we  see  how 
unwise  must  be  any  feeling  of  jealousy  towards  the  higher 
seminaries.  This  feeling  has  existed,  it  exists  to  some 
extent  now,  and  sometimes  conceals  and  justifies  itself 
under  a  profession  of  exclusive  attachment  for  common 
schools.  So  far  as  I  have  observed,  the  persons  who 
speak  thus,  seldom  do  much  for  any  thing ;  but  if  they 
would  really  go  to  work  in  their  favorite  department, 
nothing  would  please  us  better.  So  far  as  they  have  ill- 
will  towards  the  higher  seminaries,  it  would  operate  much 
like  that  of  the  passionate  woman  who  poured  boiling 
water  around  the  roots  of  her  husband's  favorite  peach- 
tree  with  the  intention  of  killing  it,  but  in  fact  only  killed 
the  worms,  and  stimulated  the  roots,  and  made  it  bear 
such  peaches  as  it  never  bore  before.  Let  the  common 
school  be  made  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  it  will  create  a 
thirst  which  it  cannot  slake.  The  numbers  will  be  in- 
creased who  will  not  stop  there.  They  will  find  their 
way  to  the  academy ;  they  will  scale  the  walls  of  these 
out-posts  of  knowledge,  and  will  not  rest  satisfied  till  they 
have  entered  its  citadel,  and  taken  a  broad  survey  from 
the  highest  point  in  the  land  where  its  flag  is  flying. 
Means  may  be  wanting,  but  they  will  be  furnished ; 
buildings  may  burn  down,  but  they  will  be  built  again. 
The  people  will  feel  that  they  have  a  right  to  provide 
themselves  with  the  best  means  of  education,  and  they 
will  do  it. 

Wherever,  therefore,  you  give  an  impulse,  it  will  be  felt 
throughout.  The  system  is  articulated,  and  it  is  good  ; 
but  what  we  need  is,  to  give  it  greater  thoroughness,  and 
efficiency,  and  compass.  We  are  now  like  that  scientific 
farmer  who  has  a  good  system  of  rotation  of  crops,  but 
who  does  not  manure  his  land,  or  plough  deep  enough,  or 


223 

keep  up  his  fences.  We  have  common  schools ;  but 
many  of  them  are  in  buildings  without  taste,  without 
a  hbrary,  without  proper  seats  or  proper  means  of  warmth 
and  ventilation,  and  above  all,  without  competent  instruc- 
tors. We  have  academies  ;  but  many  of  them  were  built 
by  a  few  enterprising  persons  for  the  credit  of  the  village, 
and  are  without  endowment,  without  apparatus,  without 
steady  patronage,  and  without  the  means  of  commanding 
a  permanent  instructor,  or  of  prescribing  a  regular  course. 
We  have  colleges  ;  but  some  of  them  are  in  debt  or  em- 
barrassed, and  by  no  means  able  to  do  what  ought  to  be 
done  by  institutions  of  that  class.  Well  therefore  may 
we  rejoice  in  any  event  that  promises  to  give  efficiency  to 
this  system.  The  ship  in  which  we  are  embarked  is  a 
good  one,  but  it  needs  to  be  better  fitted  up  and  better 
manned. 

But  if  our  present  system  of  institutions  and  external 
apparatus  is  good,  the  next  question  is,  whether  we  teach 
all  the  branches  that  ought  to  be  taught ;  or  whether  we 
do  not  retain,  through  prescription  and  prejudice,  some 
that  ought  to  be  rejected.  Upon  the  first  of  these 
inquiries  I  shall  not  enter  ;  but  in  regard  to  the  second, 
many,  as  is  well  known,  suppose  that  the  languages  are 
thus  retained.  As  it  is  intended  that  the  languages  shall 
be  thoroughly  studied  in  this  seminary,  and  as  its  estab- 
lishment has  occasioned  considerable  discussion  on  this 
point,  I  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  touching  upon  it, 
though  it  was  briefly  discussed  when  the  corner  stone  of 
the  seminary  was  laid. 

It  was  then  stated  by  my  valued  friend,  and  former 
instructor,  that  in  his  opinion  the  study  of  Latin  and 
Greek  is  indispensable  to  a  finished  education.  In  sup- 
port of  this  opinion  he  said,  first,  that  ''no  studies  are 
better  adapted  to  form  in  a  student  a  habit  of  making 
nice  distinctions  between  things  that  differ  ;  "  secondly, 
that   "  no  studies  aff'ord  such  a  stimulus  to  the  mind  ;  " 


224 

thirdly,  that  "  no  other  study  gives  the  scholar  such  a 
command  of  language  ;  "  and  fourthly,  that  "  no  study 
prepares  the  scholar  so  well  to  understand  the  frequent 
allusions  made  by  orators,  poets,  and  historians,  to  ancient 
mythology  and  fabulous  history."  These  reasons  were 
briefly  but  strongly  enforced,  and  have  great  weight. 

If  I  might  be  permitted  to  add  something  farther,  I 
would  say,  first,  of  the  study  of  languages  in  general,  that 
it  ought  to  be  pursued  because  of  the  knowledge  it  gives 
us  of  mankind.  There  are  certain  things  which  every 
man  has  in  common  with  all  other  men,  and  when  we 
speak  of  human  nature  in  our  books  of  philosophy,  we  do 
not  include  in  it  any  but  these  common  qualities.  But  it 
is  with  man  as  it  is  with  trees — there  are  important  varie- 
ties under  the  same  species.  An  Englishman  differs  from 
a  German  as  much  as  a  hard  maple  does  from  a  soft  maple  ; 
or  a  white,  from  a  black  oak.  He  who  would  know  the 
oaks  must  study  not  only  their  common  properties,  by 
which  they  come  into  the  class  of  oaks,  but  he  must  study 
the  white  oak  and  the  black  oak.  And  so  with  men.  They 
are  separated  into  great  classes,  having  the  different  facul- 
ties of  the  mind  distributed  in  different  proportions,  having 
different  prejudices  and  habits,  different  modes  of  thought 
and  forms  of  literature.  What  can  be  more  different  than 
the  oriental  and  the  western  forms  of  thought  and  schemes 
of  philosophy  ?  What  more  unlike  than  the  German  and 
the  French  mind  ?  The  Greek  mind  and  the  Roman 
were  as  different  as  is  the  graceful  elm  from  the  stately 
pine.  And  his  knowledge  of  the  race  who  should  know  it 
only  as  it  appears  in  one  nation,  would  be  like  his  knowl- 
edge of  a  universal  language  who  should  know  but  one  of 
its  idioms.  But  language  is  the  picture  and  counterpart 
of  thought.  It  is  to  it,  what  certain  impressions  that  I 
have  seen  of  leaves  upon  paper  are  to  the  leaves  them- 
selves. Its  analogies,  its  idioms,  its  figures  of  speech,  and 
above  all  its  generalizations,  show  us  the  character  and 


225 

progress,  not  merely  of  the  mind  of  man,  but  of  national 
mind.  He  who  is  familiarly  acquainted  with  the  language 
of  a  people,  is  acquainted  with  that  people.  Hence  the 
study  of  the  language  of  a  country  gives  us  the  local  ideas 
of  that  country,  aud  many  of  the  advantages  of  travelling 
in  it.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying,  that  he  who  is 
familiarly  acquainted  with  the  language  and  literature  of 
a  people,  but  without  travel,  would  know  them  better 
than  he  who  should  travel  among  them  without  knowing 
their  language.  It  is  because  there  is  this  idiomatic  dif- 
ference, if  I  may  so  call  it,  in  mind,  that  many  things 
cannot  be  translated  from  one  language  into  another  so  as 
to  convey  the  same  impression.  This  reason,  however, 
as  thus  far  stated,  applies  equally  to  ancient  and  modern 
languages  ;  but  if  languages  are  to  be  made  a  part  of  gen- 
eral education  at  all,  there  are  reasons  why  the  ancient 
should  be  preferred.  One  is,  that  they  are,  if  not  essential, 
yet  nearly  so,  to  those  who  are  to  enter  either  of  the  pro- 
fessions. Another  reason  is,  their  common  and  intimate 
relation,  not  only  to  our  own,  but  to  all  the  modern  lan- 
guages. These  are  so  much  derived  from  them,  that  they 
cannot  be  understood  in  all  their  compass  and  force  with- 
out them,  and  when  once  they  are  thoroughly  mastered, 
most  modern  languages  are  obtained  with  comparative 
ease.  If  a  person  wished  to  get  a  speedy  and  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  French,  Spanish  and  Italian  languages, 
he  would  probably  gain  time  by  studying  the  Latin 
first. 

A  second  reason  for  the  study  of  the  classics  is  their 
peculiar  structure.  In  consequence  of  their  intlections 
and  forms  of  conjugation,  prepositions  and  auxiliaries  are 
to  a  great  degree  dispensed  with,  and  the  grammatical 
relations  of  the  words  are  indicated  in  whatever  part  of 
the  sentence  they  may  be.  This  makes  them  better 
models  than  ours  can  be,  of  both  compactness  and  har- 
mony. 

29 


226 

A  third  and  more  important  reason  arises  from  the 
place  which  the  works  in  these  languages  hold,  and  always 
must  hold,  as  standards  of  taste.  The  reason  why  they 
must  continue  to  hold  this  place,  is  to  be  found  in  a  fact 
stated  by  Dr.  Campbell,  in  his  Philosophy  of  Rhetoric. 
He  there  says,  that  the  useful  arts,  having  their  foundation 
in  necessity,  originate  first,  but  that  those  arts,  as  archi- 
tecture, painting,  sculpture,  oratory,  poetry,  whose  object 
is  to  please,  come  soonest  to  perfection.  In  the  useful  arts, 
indeed,  we  scarcely  know  what  perfection  is.  One  genera- 
tion easily  comes  up  to  the  point  reached  with  much  t6il 
by  the  preceding,  and  is  ready  to  make  advances.  Here, 
wherever  industry  and  genius  break  the  path,  mediocrity 
readily  follows.  But  those  arts,  the  object  of  which  is  to 
please  by  presenting  the  idea  of  beauty  in  material  forms, 
and  in  language,  seem  to  have  sprung  at  once  to  maturity, 
as  Minerva  is  said  to  have  come  fully  equipped  from  the 
head  of  Jove,  and  if  we  would  equal  the  great  artists  and 
orators  of  antiquity  we  must  be  such  men  as  they  were. 
If  there  is  a  summit,  and  they  have  reached  it  by  the  right 
path,  then  we  must  either  wander,  or  follow  their  footsteps. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  architect  must  study  the  Grecian 
models  and  orders  of  architecture  ;  hence  it  is  that  every 
young  artist  makes  it  the  first  object  of  his  wishes  to  go 
and  study  the  pictures  and  statues  of  the  old  masters,  and 
if  those  pictures  and  statues  shall  remain  unimpaired,  they 
will  be  the  object  of  study  till  the  end  of  time.  But  the 
classic  writers  are  in  style,  what  the  Grecian  models  are 
in  architecture — what  the  old  masters  are  in  art,  and  we 
might  as  reasonably  object  to  the  study  of  the  one  as  of 
the  other. 

A  single  reason  more  that  I  shall  mention,  may  be 
found  in  the  reciprocal  influence  of  language  and  thought 
upon  each  other.  Between  these,  the  connection  is  more 
intimate  than  is  generally  supposed.  Language  is  not 
only  the  medium,  but,  to  a  great  extent,  the  instrument 


227 

of  thought.  The  man  who  has  language  in  which  he 
can  embody  his  thought  with  precision,  will  himself  per- 
ceive it  more  clearly,  and  hold  it  more  firmly,  than  if  he 
had  no  words  but  such  as  were  loose  and  indeterminate. 
Home  Tooke  says  of  language,  that  it  not  only  conveys 
thought,  but  is  the  w^heels  upon  which  it  moves.  Hence 
one  language  is  better  than  another,  not  only  as  a  medium, 
but  as  an  instrument  of  thought,  and  the  man  who  has 
acquired  a  familiarity  by  use  in  discriminating  nice  shades 
in  the  meaning  of  words,  will  be  fcir  more  apt  to  have, 
and  to  detect,  nice  shades  in  thought.  He  has  not  merely 
acquired  more  power  to  think,  but  he  has  a  better  instru- 
ment to  think  with. 

But  while  I  speak  thus  of  the  absolute  value  of  the 
ancient  languages,  I  would  say  that  their  relative  value 
has  greatly  changed  within  a  century.  During  that  time, 
there  has  been  a  wonderful  increase  of  the  number  and 
utility  and  grandeur  of  the  physical  sciences,  and  also  a 
more  earnest  and  intense  scrutiny  into  the  world  of  mind. 
This  progress  of  science  has  drawn  universal  attention, 
both  from  the  intrinsic  interest  of  the  facts  disclosed  and 
from  their  practical  applications,  which  have  become  so 
numerous  and  important  that  a  knowledge  of  them  is  sup- 
posed by  many  to  be  the  only  part  of  a  higher  education 
that  is  practical.  Of  this  part  of  education  no  one  can 
think  more  highly  than  I  do.  I  well  remember  when  a 
perception  of  the  laws  of  the  universe  first  began  to  enter 
my  mind,  and  it  was  like  the  dawning  of  a  new  day.  But 
important  as  these  branches  are,  they  should  not  exclude 
the  classics.  If  we  would  have  a  complete  education, 
suitable  instruction  in  these  must  be  combined  with  that 
taste,  and  imagination,  and  power  of  expression,  which 
are  best  cultivated  by  a  study  of  the  languages.  This 
combination  it  has  been  the  object  of  the  colleges  to 
effect.  There  have  however  been  practical  difficulties. 
From  want  of  proper  instruction,  from  haste  in   young 


228 

men  to  go  forward,  and  from  the  competition  of  different 
institutions,  the  languages  have  been  studied  so  imper- 
fectly, that  the  objects  in  view  have  not  been  reahzed. 
It  is  from  this  imperfect  mode  of  study  that  many  have 
been  led  to  doubt  the  utihty  of  the  languages,  for  here 
one  may  go  a  considerable  way,  and  his  labor  be  nearly 
lost  if  he  does  not  go  a  little  farther — just  as  a  man  may 
go  to  the  top  of  Saddle  Mountain,  and  see  very  little,  if 
he  does  not  go  forty  feet  higher  to  the  top  of  the  tower. 
Another  difficulty  is,  that  in  the  present  accumulation  of 
knowledge,  the  study  of  the  languages  occupies  time 
which  should  be  given  to  the  sciences.  A  remedy  for 
both  these  evils  is  to  be  found  in  institutions  like  this, 
which  shall  give  a  more  thorough  preparation  for  college 
both  in  the  English  and  in  the  classical  departments,  and 
which  shall,  as  I  have  already  said,  enable  the  colleges  to 
transfer  to  them  a  portion  of  their  present  studies. 

This,  too,  would  enable  the  colleges  to  meet  the  wants 
of  the  community  in  another  respect.  It  certainly  is 
true,  that  there  is  a  body  of  scientific  knowledge  which 
ought  to  be  diffused  more  widely  among  the  people  than 
classical  studies  can  be ;  and  that  too  in  that  thorough 
and  complete  form  in  which  the  colleges  only  can  give  it. 
I  would,  if  possible,  by  means  of  lectures  and  suitable 
apparatus,  open  the  laws  and  structure  of  the  universe  to 
all.  But  if  a  more  full  and  thorough  course  were  given 
in  the  languages  before  entering  college,  then  the  college 
course  might  be  so  arranged  as  to  drop  the  classics,  say  at 
the  end  of  the  second  year,  as  some  colleges  now  drop 
them  at  the  end  of  the  third ;  and  during  the  last  two 
years,  there  might  be  a  course  of  study  and  lectures  in 
physics,  and  in  mental  and  moral  science,  which  should 
be  practically  thrown  open  to  all.  This  would  place  the 
best  English  education,  including  mathematics,  within  the 
reach  of  all,  and  would  be  without  additional  expense  for 
buildings,  apparatus  and  teachers.     If  something  of  this 


229 

kind  could  be  done,  I  think  the  wants  of  the  community 
would  be  fully  met  in  regard  to  the  branches  which  should 
be  taught. 

It  would  now  remain,  if  I  should  follow  out  the  scheme 
of  thought  proposed,  that  I  should  say  something  of  the 
time  and  manner  in  which  these  branches  may  be  best 
taught.  I  have  however  already  detained  you  too  long, 
to  enter  at  length  upon  these  topics,  and  shall  only  refer 
to  two  general  characteristics,  which,  I  understand,  it  is 
intended  shall  pervade  the  whole  course  of  instruction  in 
this  seminary.  One  is  thoroughness ;  and  the  other  is 
moral  teaching  based  on  the  Bible.  If  both  these  can  be 
secured,  Ave  may  safely  leave  details  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves. Where  these  are  not,  nothing  can  be  right  ; 
where  they  are,  I  think  we  may  say,  that  in  this  age  of 
light  in  regard  to  the  proper  modes  of  teaching,  every 
thing  will  be  essentially  right. 

Without  thoroughness,  no  education  can  be  what  it 
ought  to  be  in  any  respect.  The  want  of  it  not  only 
vitiates  our  knowledge  of  particular  subjects,  but  it  im- 
plies the  formation  of  such  habits  as  must  unfit  a  man  for 
any  difficult  and  responsible  station.  Even  wrong  methods 
of  study  thoroughly  pursued,  are  better  than  right  ones 
pursued  laxly,  for  they  give  the  student  right  habits  and 
mental  vigor.  From  various  causes,  there  has  hitherto 
been  a  great  want  of  thoroughness  in  our  preparatory 
schools,  and  there  is  no  point  on  which  reformation  is 
more  needed.  Thoroughness  can  be  secured  only  on 
three  conditions.  The  first  is,  that  you  have  a  permanent 
instructor ;  the  second  is,  that  your  permanent  instructor 
be  a  thorough  man;  and  the  third  is,  that  you  have  a  pre- 
scribed course.  For  each  of  these,  provision  has  been 
made  in  this  institution. 

In  regard  to  moral  and  religious  instruction,  I  am  happy 
to  feel  that  I  am  in  a  region  where  there  is  less  need  of 
inculcating  its  importance  than  in  most  others,  and  where 


230 

those  unfounded  and  dangerous  opinions  of  the  sufficiency 
of  mere  intellectual  education  have  not  taken  deep  root. 
Strange  indeed  it  is  that  they  should  have  been  prevalent 
any  where.  Has  not  man  a  moral  nature  ?  Why  not 
then  cultivate  it  ?  Is  it  not  the  highest  part  of  his  nature 
— that  to  which  the  control  of  all  his  other  faculties  is 
intrusted  ?  Is  it  not  moral  evil,  pre-eminently,  that  causes 
the  unhappiness  of  individuals  and  of  society  ?  Are  not 
intellectual  light  and  power  a  curse  when  under  the  direc- 
tion of  moral  depravity  ?  Is  not  the  morality  of  the  Bible 
perfect  ?  Are  not  its  teachings  often  accompanied  with  a 
divine  power  ?  In  a  Christian  community  but  one  an- 
swer can  be  given  to  these  questions,  and  it  must  settle 
for  ever  the  propriety  of  our  seeking  to  bring  the  moral 
nature  of  the  young  under  the  control  of  the  principles  of 
the  Bible.  I  think  of  education  more  highly  than  as 
simple  instruction — the  giving  of  information.  I  think  of 
it  as  that  which  imparts  and  moulds  the  principles  of 
action.  And  if  this  is  to  be  done,  let  us  at  least  go  as  far 
as  that  infidel  philosopher  who  was  once  found  teaching 
his  little  son  the  New  Testament,  and  who  when  he  was 
inquired  of  with  surprise  why  he  did  it,  said,  ''  After  all, 
my  friend,  there  is  nothing  better."  Long  may  it  be  the 
sentiment  of  all  those  who  have  the  formation  of  the 
youthful  mind — "  there  is  nothing  better." 

Having,  then,  these  two  characteristics  of  thoroughness 
and  moral  instruction  broadly  enstamped  upon  its  course, 
with  a  liberal  endowment,  with  a  healthy  and  favorable 
location,  with  experienced  and  successful  teachers,  with 
buildings  convenient,  beautiful,  soon  to  be  fully  completed, 
and  the  grounds  in  connection  with  them  tastefully  adorn- 
ed, this  seminary  may  hope  for  distinguished  usefulness 
and  success.  Doubtless  there  will  resort  to  it,  as  to  all 
others,  some  who  are  indolent,  reckless,  and  w^anton,  who 
will  pervert  the  provisions  made  for  their  good,  who  will, 
perhaps,  deface  the  buildings,  and  spread  moral  contami- 


231 

nation  around  them.  It  does,  indeed,  sometimes  seem 
strange  that  this  must  be  so.  But  we  are  to  remember 
that  God's  world  is  better  thaa  any  thing  that  we  can 
build,  and  men  do  so  in  that.  When  we  remember  this, 
we  are  not  only  prepared  to  expect  such  things,  but  to 
treat  the  unhappy  persons  who  do  them  with  forbearance 
and  love.  But  while  some  such  instances  are  to  be  ex- 
pected, the  founder  and  trustees  of  this  seminary  may 
reasonably  hope  to  see  it  bringing  forward  many  young 
men  of  right  habits  and  principles,  storing  their  minds 
with  knowledge,  strengthening  them  by  discipline,  and 
preparing  them  for  usefulness  in  the  church  of  God,  in 
our  beloved  country,  and  in  the  world.  To  this  high  pur- 
pose, imploring  upon  it  the  blessing  of  God,  we  now 
devote  the  Williston  Seminary. 


INAUGURAL  DISCOURSE, 

DELIVERED  AT  WILLIAMS  COLLEGE, 
September  15,  1836. 


Connected  as  the  cause  of  Education  is,  in  this  country, 
with  every  thing  that  we  hold  dear  in  our  social,  civil, 
and  religious  institutions  ;  and  sustained  as  our  Colleges 
are  by  public  and  private  benefactions,  it  is  desirable  that 
the  principles  and  feelings  of  those  who  conduct  them 
should  be  fully  known  by  the  community.  That  much 
is  constantly  said  on  the  subject  of  education,  only  shows 
that  much  still  needs  to  be  said  ;  for  the  public  will  can 
act  efficiently  only  in  view  of  principles  which  are  re- 
garded as  settled,  and  in  favor  of  institutions  in  which  it 
has  confidence.  It  may  not,  therefore,  be  inappropriate 
for  me,  on  this  occasion,  to  make  some  observations  on 
the  nature  and  objects  of  education  in  general  ;  and  more 
particularly  upon  collegiate  education,  as  adapted  to  attain 
those  objects  and  to  meet  the  wants  of  the  community. 

To  all  the  productions  of  nature  there  belongs  an  ideal 
perfection  of  which  they  are  fully  capable,  and  beyond 
which,  under  the  most  fgfvorable  circumstances,  they  can- 
not go.  We  may  so  plant  a  particular  seed  and  cultivate 
its  shoot,  that  it  shall  attain  the  highest  perfection  of 
which  the  species  is  capable  ;  or  we  may  so  plant  and 
neglect  it,  as  to  cause  it  to  be  dwarfish  and  deformed. 


233 

The  elm,  for  example,  if  its  soil  and  situation  are  favora- 
ble, may  attain  in  size  the  limit  of  its  species,  and  may 
leave,  in  the  figure  of  its  graceful  boughs,  nothing  for  the 
eye  to  desire.  It  would  be  the  object  of  culture  to  pro- 
duce such  a  tree.  And  so  it  is  with  man.  Tliere  are  a 
strength  and  beauty  of  physical  structure,  a  compass  and 
accuracy  of  knowledge,  a  soundness  of  judgment,  a  read- 
iness and  retentiveness  of  memory,  a  richness  and  gran- 
deur of  imagination,  a  refinement  of  feeling,  a  correctness 
and  strength  of  principle,  and  a  promptitude  of  action, 
which  it  is  possible  should  be  combined  in  the  same  indi- 
vidual, and  which,  if  we  are  to  cultivate  man  as  man,  it 
must  be  the  object  of  education  to  produce. 

By  education,  I  mean,  not  merely  formal  instruction, 
but  any  system  of  excitement  or  restraint  the  object  of 
which  is  to  effect  some  definite  change  in  the  physical, 
intellectual,  or  moral  character  of  man.  The  term,  I 
know,  is  often  used,  in  a  broader  sense,  to  include  every 
thing  in  external  nature,  and  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
individual,  which  can  exert  an  influence  upon  him, 
whether  intended  to  exert  such  influence  or  not.  That 
there  are  circumstances  in  local  situation,  and  in  the 
structure  of  society,  the  influence  of  which  cannot  be 
avoided,  and  which  yet  often  control  the  character  and 
destiny  of  the  young,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Climate, 
the  form  of  government,  childhood  spent  in  the  city  or  in 
the  country,  in  luxury  or  in  poverty,  and  perhaps  more 
than  all,  early  and  casual  impressions  caught  from  first 
associates,  operate  imperceptibly,  but  irresistibly,  in  modi- 
fying and  giving  variety  to  character.  But  though  the 
influence  upon  the  mind  of  causes  beyond  our  control, 
may  be  an  interesting  subject  of  speculation,  just  as  is 
the  influence  of  gravity  on  matter,  and  though  these 
causes  may  form  a  part  of  that  tutelage  under  which  in 
the  providence  of  God  his  creatures  are  put,  and  we  may, 
if  we  please,  call  it  the  education  of  circumstances,  yet  if 
30 


234 

we  regard  the  common  use  of  language,  or  if  we  would 
define  a  practical  science,  we  must  include  in  the  term 
Education,  only  those  circumstances  over  which  we  have 
a  control,  and  which  we  can  and  do  bring  to  bear  upon 
man  with  the  intention  of  effecting  a  particular  end. 
The  simple  fact  that  the  parent  is  rich,  will  have  an  effect 
upon  the  mind  of  the  child ;  but  that  effect  is,  as  I  use 
the  term,  no  part  of  education — it  is  often  something 
which  it  is  the  business  of  education  to  counteract.  Ac- 
cording to  any  other  use  of  the  term,  one  individual  is  as 
much  educated  as  another,  since  all  are  equally  under 
some  influence  by  which  they  are  formed  to  some  particu- 
lar character. 

But  besides  those  circumstances  which  act  upon  the 
mind,  and  over  which  we  have  not  control,  there  are 
others  over  which  we  have  ;  and  education  may  be  said 
to  consist,  according  to  its  most  general  division,  first,  of 
those  influences  which  we  may  bring  to  bear  upon  the 
mind  aside  from  direct  instruction  ;  and  secondly,  of  direct 
instruction. 

Of  these  two,  the  first  is,  no  doubt,  the  more  important, 
and  will  be  most  regarded  by  a  wise  parent.  A  child 
may  be  an  inmate  in  a  family,  and  form  virtuous  habits 
from  the  general  influence  by  which  he  is  surrounded, 
without  having  a  word  directed  especially  to  him  in  the 
way  of  advice — indeed  it  is  perhaps  in  this  way  that  he 
would  be  most  likely  to  form  them ;  and  we  all  know 
that  it  needs  no  positive  instruction  to  render  children 
vicious  where  the  general  influence  by  which  they  are 
surrounded  is  bad.  When  direct  instruction  is  obliged  to 
struggle  against  such  an  influence,  it  finds  a  current  which 
it  cannot  breast.  Among  the  circumstances  which  can 
be  controlled  to  some  extent,  and  which  ought  to  be 
desired,  are  opportunities  and  inducements  for  physical 
exercise,  a  healthy  situation,  fine  scenery,  proper  books,  a 
suitable  example  on  the  part  of  instructors,  companions  of 


235 

correct  and  studious  habits,  and  above  all,  a  good  religious 
influence.  On  this  subject,  the  apathy  of  many  parents 
is  astonishing.  They  do  not  seem  to  consider  this  a  part 
of  education  for  which  they  are  in  any  way  responsible. 
If  their  children  are  in  a  reputable,  it  may  be  in  a  fashion- 
able or  celebrated  institution,  they  live  in  contented  igno- 
rance of  the  rest.  In  regard  to  this  part  of  education,  per- 
haps no  system  can  be  formed ; — but  wise  and  good  men 
need  to  consider  it  more  deeply,  and  the  public  mind 
needs  to  be  awakened,  and  the  public  conscience  stimu- 
lated respecting  it.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  by  the 
combined  influence  of  parents,  and  of  teachers,  and  of  those 
students  who  are  governed  by  principle  and  who  know 
the  moral  power  which  is  exerted  by  one  young  man  who 
pursues  throughout  his  course  of  study  a  consistent  and 
holy  course,  our  seminaries  of  learning,  and  especially  our 
colleges,  may  not  be  made  places  where  vice  and  indolence 
cannot  remain.  Instruction  may  form  the  intellect ;  in- 
fluence moulds  the  moral  character. 

But  whether  we  consider  education  as  comprising  more 
or  less,  or  whatever  division  we  may  make  of  it,  the  gen- 
eral principle  which  we  are  to  regard,  especially  in  its 
second  part,  which  is  positive  instruction,  is  now  settled 
among  all  thinking  men.  It  is,  that  we  are  to  regard  the 
mind,  not  as  a  piece  of  iron  to  be  laid  upon  the  anvil  and 
hammered  into  any  shape,  nor  as  a  block  of  marble  in 
which  we  are  to  find  the  statue  by  removing  the  rubbish, 
nor  as  a  receptacle  into  which  knowledge  may  be  poured  ; 
but  as  a  flame  that  is  to  be  fed,  as  an  active  being  that 
must  be  strengthened  to  think  and  to  feel — to  dare,  to  do, 
and  to  sufl'er.  It  is  as  a  germ,  expanding,  under  the  influ- 
ence certainly  of  air  and  sunlight  and  moisture,  but  yet 
only  through  the  agency  of  an  internal  force  ;  and  exter- 
nal agency  is  of  no  value  except  as  it  elicits,  and  controls, 
and  perfects  the  action  of  that  force.  He  only  who  can 
rightly  appreciate  the  force  of  this  principle,  and  carry  it 


236 

out  into  all  its  consequences,  in  the  spirit  of  the  maxim, 
that  nature  is  to  be  conquered  only  by  obeying  her  laws, 
will  do  all  that  belongs  to  the  office  of  a  teacher. 

That  there  has  been  so  much  mistake  respecting  this 
fundamental  principle,  obvious  as  it  appears,  and  conform- 
able as  it  is  to  the  analogies  of  nature,  can  have  arisen, 
only  as  most  practical  mistakes  do,  because  men  were 
''  willingly  ignorant."  There  is,  indeed,  great  temptation 
on  the  part  of  both  teachers  and  scholars  to  pursue  a 
course  not  in  accordance  with  this  principle.  It  is  far 
easier  for  a  teacher  to  generalize  a  class,  and  give  it  a 
lesson  to  get  by  rote,  and  hear  it  said,  and  let  it  pass,  than 
it  is  to  watch  the  progress  of  individual  mind,  and  awaken 
interest,  and  answer  objections,  and  explore  tendencies, 
and,  beginning  with  the  elements,  construct  together  with 
his  pupils,  so  that  they  shall  feel  that  they  aid  in  it,  the 
fair  fabric  of  a  science  with  which  they  shall  be  familiar 
from  the  foundation  to  the  top-stone.  It  is  far  easier  also 
to  induce  students  to  get  particular  lessons,  than  to  study 
subjects.  The  one  they  may  do  from  any  transient  mo- 
tive— from  fear  of  disgrace,  or  mere  ambition ;  the  other 
is  seldom  done  except  from  interest  in  the  subject.  This 
is  a  point  that  needs  attention  ;  for  it  is  astonishing  how 
often  even  intelligent  young  men  content  themselves  with 
being  able  to  appear  well  in  particular  recitations,  without 
ever  tracing  relations,  and  carrying  out  principles,  and 
taking  a  wide  and  comprehensive  survey  of  the  whole 
subject. 

This  course  is  also  more  fruitful  in  immediate  results 
of  a  certain  kind,  and  there  are  especial  temptations  to  it 
in  rival  seminaries,  and  where  examinations  are  made  the 
test  of  what  is  done.  There  are  not  wanting  schools  in 
this  country  in  which  the  real  interest  and  progress  of  the 
pupils  are  sacrificed  to  their  appearance  at  examination. 
But  the  vanity  of  parents  nmst  be  flattered,  and  the 
memory  is  overburdened,  and  studies  are  forced  on  pre- 


237 

maturely,  and  a  system  of  infant-school  instruction  is  car- 
ried forward  into  maturer  life.  Nature,  however,  will  not 
be  hurried ;  and  if  it  is  desired  to  enter  upon  a  study  for 
which  the  faculties  are  not  yet  ripe, — for  example,  the 
study  of  intellectual  philosophy,  before  the  reflective  fac- 
ulties are  somewhat  mature,  as  is  often  done  of  late, — 
the  only  honest  course  is  to  advise  its  postponement,  and 
not  to  attempt  to  satisfy  ignorance,  and  really  to  foster 
conceit,  by  substituting  memory  for  investigation.  I  will 
not  say  that  studies  so  pursued  invariably  perplex,  and 
discourage,  and  disgust  the  student, — because  he  often 
remains  in  such  happy  ignorance  of  the  subject  as  not  to 
be  aware  of  its  difficulties,  and  thus  a  little  that  is  valuable 
may  be  picked  up,  and  the  memory  be  improved  ; — but  I 
do  say  that  whenever  a  mind,  proceeding  in  the  true 
method,  is  brought  to  wrestle  with  a  subject  which  in  the 
nature  of  things  it  is  not  yet  competent  to  master,  and  it 
has  only  discernment  enough  to  see  difficulties,  it  must 
be  perplexed  and  discouraged,  and  its  progress  retarded. 
A  great  part  of  the  complaints  which  we  hear  of  studies 
as  hard  and  dull  and  dry,  is  no  doubt  the  result  of  sheer 
indolence  ;  but  they  may  also  result  from  an  injudicious 
attempt  on  the  part  of  parents  or  teachers  to  push  a  really 
good  mind  too  fast. 

But  thus  it  is  that  indolence  and  interest  in  teachers 
have  conspired  with  vanity  in  parents  to  sustain  a  false 
system.  And  the  reasons  are  equally  obvious  why  it 
should  find  favor  with  the  mass  of  pupils.  The  habit  of 
patient  attention,  that  to  which  Newton  attributed  all  his 
superiority,  is  perhaps  formed  with  more  difficulty  by 
mankind  at  large,  and  especially  by  the  young,  than  any 
other.  But  it  is  only  by  means  of  this  that  they  can 
investigate  for  themselves,  or  proceed  in  the  spirit  of  the 
principle  we  are  now  considering.  Innumerable  are  the 
expedients  which  are  resorted  to  on  all  sides  to  avoid  this, 
and  yet  obtain  an    education.     The    rich  may  employ 


238 

tutors,  and  purchase  apparatus,  and  procure  lectures,  and 
still,  if  they  cannot  inure  their  children  to  intellectual 
toil,  they  will  not  be  educated.  The  young  man  may 
get  another  to  prompt  him,  or  may  slily  read  from  a  book 
and  cheat  his  instructor — but  he  is  cheating  himself  still 
more.  There  is  a  strange  slowness  in  assenting  practi- 
cally to  that  great  law  of  nature,  that  the  faculties  are 
strengthened  only  by  exercise.  It  is  so  with  the  body, 
and  it  is  so  with  the  mind.  If  a  man  would  strengthen 
his  intellectual  faculties,  he  must  exercise  them ;  if  he 
would  improve  his  taste,  he  must  employ  it  on  the  objects 
of  taste ;  if  he  would  improve  his  moral  nature  and  make 
progress  in  goodness,  he  must  perform  acts  of  goodness. 
Nor  will  he  improve  his  faculties  by  thinking  about  them 
and  studyhig  into  their  nature,  unless  by  so  doing  he  is 
enabled  and  induced  to  put  them  into  more  skilful  and 
efficient  action. 

We  hear  much  said  about  self-educated  men,  and  a 
broad  distinction  is  made  between  them  and  others ;  but 
the  truth  is,  that  every  man  who  is  educated  at  all,  is,  and 
must  be,  self-educated.  There  are  no  more  two  methods 
in  which  the  mind  can  make  progress,  than  there  are  two 
methods  in  which  plants  can  grow.  One  seed  may  be 
blown  by  the  winds,  and  cast  upon  the  southern,  or  per- 
chance on  the  northern  side  of  some  distant  hill,  and 
may  there  germinate,  and  take  root,  and  do  battle  alone 
with  the  elements,  and  it  may  be  so  favored  by  the  soil 
and  climate  that  it  shall  lift  itself  in  surpassing  strength 
and  beauty ;  another  may  be  planted  carefully  in  a  good 
soil,  and  the  hand  of  tillage  may  be  applied  to  it,  yet 
must  this  also  draw  for  itself  nutriment  from  the  soil,  and 
for  itself  withstand  the  rush  of  the  tempest,  and  lift  its 
head  on  high  only  as  it  strikes  its  roots  deep  in  the  earth. 
It  is  for  the  want  of  understanding  this  properly,  that 
extravagant  expectations  are  entertained  of  instructors, 
and  of  institutions ;   and   that  those  who  go   to   college 


239 

sometimes  expect,  and  the  community  expect,  that  they 
will  be  learned  of  course,— as  if  they  could  be  inoculated 
with  knowledge,  or  obtain  it  by  absorption.  This  broad 
distinction  between  self-educated  men  and  others  has  done 
harm ;  for  young  men  will  not  set  themselves  efficiently 
at  work  until  they  feel  that  there  is  an  all  important  part 
which  they  must  perform  for  themselves,  and  which  no 
one  can  do  for  them. 

And  here  I  may  mention,  that  from  this  view  of  the 
subject,  it  is  easy  to  see  what  it  is  that  constitutes  the  first 
excellence  of  an  instructor.  It  is  not  his  amount  of 
knowledge,  nor  yet  his  facility  of  communication,  impor- 
tant as  these  may  be  ;  but  it  is  his  power  to  give  an  im- 
pulse to  the  minds  of  his  pupils,  and  to  induce  them  to 
labor.  For  this  purpose,  nothing  is  so  necessary  as  a  dis- 
interested devotion  to  the  work,  and  a  certain  enthusiasm 
which  may  act  by  sympathy  on  the  minds  of  the  young. 
It  is  from  the  decay  of  this  that  courses  of  lectures  and  of 
instruction,  once  attractive,  often  cease  to  interest.  When 
a  teacher  has  advanced  so  far  beyond  his  class,  or  has 
become  so  familiar  with  his  subject,  as  to  feel  no  interest 
in  its  truths,  then,  however  well  he  may  understand  them, 
and  however  clearly  he  may  state  them,  he  is  not  all  that 
a  teacher  ought  to  be.  He  who  carries  the  torch-light 
into  the  recesses  of  science,  and  shows  the  gems  that  are 
sparkling  there,  must  not  be  a  mere  hired  conductor,  who 
is  to  bow  in  one  company,  and  bow  out  another,  and  show 
what  is  to  be  seen  with  a  heartless  indifference  ;  but  must 
have  an  ever  living  fountain  of  emotion,  that  will  flow 
afresh  as  he  contemplates  anew  the  works  of  God  and  the 
great  principles  of  truth  and  duty.  This  is  no  more  impos- 
sible in  regard  to  the  beauties  and  wonders  which  science 
discloses,  than  it  is  in  regard  to  the  more  obvious  appear- 
ances of  nature,  and  the  instructor  may  adopt  in  spirit  the 
words  of  the  poet — 


240 

*'  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  Rainbow  in  the  sky  : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began ; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  Man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old. 

Or  let  me  die  ! 
The  Child  is  Father  of  the  Man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety." 

It  is  such  an  one  alone  who  can  know  the  pleasure  of 
carrying  forward  a  class  of  ingenuous  youth,  and  watching 
them  as  they  gain  new  positions,  and  take  in  wider  views 
till  the  whole  prospect  is  at  their  command.  And  when, 
as  sometimes  happens,  he  has  a  class  of  an  opposite  char- 
acter, and  his  instructions  fall  dead,  and  no  interest  is  ex- 
cited, it  is  he  alone  who  can  know  the  anxiety,  I  had  al- 
most said  agony,  with  which,  as  the  prophet  of  old  upon 
the  dead  body  of  the  child,  he  once  and  again  as  it  were 
puts  his  mouth  to  its  mouth,  and  his  eyes  to  its  eyes,  and 
stretches  himself  upon  the  class,  and  finds  no  life  come. 
And  he  alone  knows  how  cheerless  and  hopeless  and 
slavish  is  the  dull  routine  of  his  labors  after  that.  There 
are,  it  seems  to  me,  few  modes  of  gaining  a  living  short 
of  actual  villainy,  which  a  man  of  sensibility  would  not 
prefer  to  it. 

With  such  an  object,  and  such  a  method,  our  further 
views  respecting  education  will  be  determined  by  the 
opinions  we  may  have  formed  respecting  the  faculties  of 
man  which  are  to  be  perfected,  and  the  relative  attention 
to  be  bestowed  upon  each.  On  these  points  there  are  dif- 
ferent views,  and  views  substantially  the  same  may  be  in- 
volved in  different  classifications.  I  may  however  remark 
briefly,  as  my  limits  compel  me,  that  a  wise  system  of  ed- 
ucation will  regard  man, 

First,  as  possessed  of  a  body  which  is  to  be  kept  in 
health  and  vigor.     It  is  now  agreed  that  the  health  of  the 


241 

body  is  to  be  one  great  object  of  attention,  not  only  for 
its  own  sake,  but  from  its  connection  with  a  sound  state 
and  vigorous  action  of  the  mind. 

Secondly,  a  wise  system  of  education  must  regard  man 
as  possessed  of  intellectual  faculties,  whose  object  is  truth. 
It  is  upon  these  faculties  that  education  has  too  often  spent 
all  its  force.  In  cultivating  these,  we  are  to  point  out  the 
great  sources  of  prejudice  to  which  mankind  are  liable  in 
their  search  after  truth,  to  strengthen  the  memory,  to 
exercise  the  judgment,  to  teach  the  mind  both  to  compre- 
hend and  carry  on  general  reasoning  and  to  descend  to 
details ;  we  are  to  make  distinctions,  and  go  back  to  first 
principles,  being  always  careful  to  quicken  and  keep  in 
exercise  all  that  there  is  of  that  most  uncommon  quality, 
good  common  sense.  As  far  as  possible,  knowledge  is  to 
be  communicated  ;  but  we  are  not  to  aim  so  much  at 
giving  the  world  men  whose  minds  are  already  full,  as 
those  who  have  the  power  of  attention,  and  habits  of 
analysis,  and  of  accurate  investigation,  and  of  intellectual 
labor,  and  the  power  of  communication. 

Thirdly,  a  wise  system  of  education  will  consider  man 
as  having  faculties  whose  object  is  beauty.  That  part  of 
our  nature  whose  object  is  beauty  and  sublimity,  (for  no 
one  word  expresses  it  exactly,)  does  not  probably  receive 
its  due  share  of  attention,  and  is  sometimes  wholly  over- 
looked. The  cultivation  of  these  emotions  is,  by  some 
powerful  though  dry  intellects,  rejected  as  effeminate, 
and  they  are  often  buried  up  amidst  the  pursuits  of  ambi- 
tion and  of  wealth.  But  it  is  not  for  nothing,  that  nature 
addresses  herself  to  this  part  of  our  constitution  in  a  thou- 
sand forms,  and  with  a  thousand  voices  ;  that  she  has  so 
frequently  united  beauty  with  utility,  and  even  stamped 
it  with  an  independent  value  by  often  setting  it  alone. 
It  is  not  for  nothing  that  she  has  consulted  appearances  by 
painting  the  flower,  and  turning  the  glossy  side  of  every 
leaf  to  the  eye,  and  dipping  in  gold  the  plumage  of  the 
31 


242 

bird,  and  bathing  in  its  pomp  of  hues  the  coming  and  the 
parting  day.  Nor  was  it  merely  to  impart  a  transient 
pleasure  ; — but  it  was,  that  the  exercise  of  this  part  of  our 
nature  might  throw  a  refining  and  softening  influence  over 
the  rest,  and  to  teach  us  to  carry  the  principles  of  taste 
into  our  manners  and  outward  conduct.  If  tliere  is  noth- 
ing morally  good  in  these  emotions,  yet  are  they  naturally 
allied  to  goodness,  and  seem  to  be  its  twilight ;  they  are 
the  transition  step  in  the  creation,  from  mere  matter,  to 
moral  worth  and  beauty.  And  if  but  little  can  be  done, 
which  is  by  no  means  certain,  to  cultivate  directly  this 
part  of  what  may  be  called  the  emotive  or  affective  part 
of  our  constitution ;  we  at  least  need  not  overlay  it,  and 
carry  forward  education  as  if  it  did  not  exist.  We  may 
appreciate  it,  we  may  dwell  upon  it,  we  may  favor  to 
some  extent  the  operation  of  circumstances  in  eliciting  it. 
Fourthly,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  a  wise  sys- 
tem of  education  will  regard  man  as  possessed  of  a  moral 
nature,  the  object  of  which  is  goodness.  This  implies 
the  combined  action  of  the  rational  and  affective  nature  of 
man,  and  is  their  consummation  and  final  cause.  The 
union  of  cultivated  intellect  and  refined  taste  with  moral 
corruption,  however  common  it  may  be,  is  monstrous  ; 
and  if  there  are  institutions  the  legitimate  tendency  of 
which  is  to  produce  that  result,  they  are  a  curse  to  the 
community.  As  in  the  intellect  we  endeavor  to  form  the 
mind,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  to  self-progress, 
so  in  morals  we  are  to  endeavor  to  form  it  to  self-govern- 
ment. This  gives  us  our  principle  in  moral  education. 
Evil  is  in  the  world,  and  must  be  met.  This  world  was 
intended  to  be  a  place  of  trial,  and  if  a  scheme  of  optimism 
can  be  made  out  upon  any  supposition,  it  is  upon  this. 
Temptation  cannot  be  excluded.  It  leaped  the  walls  of 
paradise,  and  the  frontier  which  we  have  to  guard  is  far 
too  wide  to  enable  us  to  prevent  its  incursions.  Our  main 
reliance  must  lie   in  strengthening  the  citadel.      There 


243 

should  be  no  needless  exposure  ;  there  should,  if  possible, 
and  this  is  the  point  to  be  attended  to,  be  none  till  there 
is  strength  to  meet  it.  The  youth  must,  if  possible,  be 
prevented  from  tasting  the  cup  of  Circe,  till  we  have 
shown  him  the  swine  that  had  once  been  men  ;  he  must 
be  kept  from  the  fascination  of  the  serpent,  till  we  have 
shown  him  its  fangs  ;  and  having  done  this,  we  must 
commit  him  to  his  own  keeping  and  to  God. 

According  to  this  division,  we  shall  have  physical  vigor, 
knowledge  and  intellectual  power,  refined  taste  and  moral 
excellence  ;  or  in  other  words,  we  shall  have  formed  the 
mind  to  the  love  and  pursuit  of  truth,  of  beauty,  and  of 
goodness. 

I  might  here  close  this  enumeration,  but  I  should  not 
feel  that  it  was  complete,  unless  I  were  to  add  that  a  wise 
system  of  education  will  regard  man  as  susceptible  of  the 
influence  of  habit.  The  susceptibility  to  habits,  is  to  the 
mind,  what  the  system  of  involuntary  muscles  is  to  the 
body — for  as  it  would  require  our  whole  time  to  cause  the 
heart  to  beat,  so  there  are  modes  of  voluntary  action  con- 
stantly recurring,  which  would  engross  life  if  they  did  not, 
by  being  often  repeated,  pass  to  some  extent  beyond  the 
sphere  of  deliberation  and  immediate  volition.  But  in 
passing  from  the  sphere  of  conscious  volition,  they  also 
pass  from  that  of  observation,  and  it  is  this  fact  that  ren- 
ders it  so  difficult  to  correct  habits  that  are  wrong,  and  so 
important  to  form  those  that  are  right.  Few,  probably, 
practically  estimate  as  they  ought,  the  power  of  repetition 
to  give  facility  of  action,  and  the  decrease  of  susceptibility 
on  repeated  impression.  It  is  through  these  that  man 
may,  on  the  one  hand,  come  to  perform  with  ease  the 
nicest  operations  of  art,  and  on  the  other,  become  gradu- 
ally reconciled  to  almost  any  situation  ;  and  the  system  of 
education  that  should  disregard  these  facts  would  be 
highly  defective.  A  regard  to  them  will  lead  us  to  look 
at  an  act  in  its  connections,  and  when  a  habit  is  in  ques- 


244 

tion,  as  that  of  punctuality,  for  instance,  to  insist  ugon 
some  things  with  a  particularity  which  would  not  be  jus- 
tified by  their  intrinsic  importance. 

From  these  general  views  I  now  pass  to  consider  how 
far  the  course  pursued  in  our  colleges  is  adapted  to  attain 
the  ends  mentioned,  and  to  meet  the  wants  of  the  com- 
munity. Time  however  will  permit  me  to  do  this  only 
so  far  as  will  be  necessary  to  meet  some  of  the  objections 
that  are  made  against  them. 

And  first,  it  is  objected  that  colleges  destroy  physical 
vigor.  There  has,  no  doubt,  been  ground  for  this  objec- 
tion. From  its  local  situation,  this  college  has  probably 
sufl'ered  less  in  this  way  than  some  others,  and  there  has 
been  here,  especially  of  late,  comparatively  little  failure  of 
the  health.  Something  has  been  done,  but  there  is  still 
room  for  improvement.  It  ought,  however,  no  more  to 
be  expected  that  the  student  should  have  the  same 
robustness  of  frame  and  muscular  vigor  as  the  laboring 
man,  than  that  the  laboring  man  should  have  the  same 
intellectual  cultivation  as  the  student.  There  is  no  use 
in  undertaking  to  combine  things  that  are  incompatible  ; 
and  however  useful  and  desirable  on  many  accounts  and 
in  many  situations  manual-labor  institutions  may  be,  (I 
believe  they  may  be  both,)  still  there  always  have  been, 
and  probably  always  will  be  institutions  not  on  that  plan, 
and  yet  compatible  with  perfect  health.  If  we  were  to 
regard  the  general  voice  on  this  subject,  we  should  sup- 
pose that  a  want  of  exercise  was  the  great,  if  not  the  sole 
cause  of  the  failure  of  health  among  our  literary  men. 
But  there  is  a  power  of  adaptation  in  the  human  con- 
stitution which  fits  it  for  different  occupations.  It  was 
never  intended  to  lay  down,  in  this  respect,  a  railway, 
from  which,  if  man  deviated,  he  should  be  dashed  in 
pieces ;  and  experience  shows,  that  if  other  things  are  at- 
tended to,  the  range  of  safety  to  health  is  comparatively 


245 

wide.  It  is  not  a  fact  that  students  in  Germany  exercise 
more  than  those  in  this  country,  and  yet  they  are  liealthy. 
But  tile  trutli  is  that  students,  in  common  with  other 
classes  of  the  community,  not  only  do  not  exercise 
enough,  but  they  hve  in  the  constant  violation  of  all  the 
rules  of  dietetics.  Some  have  used,  and  still  use,  intoxi- 
cating drinks  ;  a  much  larger  number  use  tobacco  ;  some 
are  constantly  eating  dried  fruits  and  various  kinds  of 
confectionary  ;  many  eat  too  much ;  many  sit  up  late 
under  the  excitement  of  novel  readnig,  and  perhaps  for 
study.  Let  their  food  be  of  proper  quantity  and  quality, 
let  them  avoid  poisonous  and  narcotic  substances,  let  them 
keep  regular  hours,  and  shun  the  predominance  of  an  ex- 
cited or  polluted  imagination  ;  and  they  will  find  that 
there  is  an  elasticity  in  the  human  frame  that  requires  ex- 
ercise. Nor  need  it  be  aimless  exercise.  Let  them  saw 
their  own  wood,  let  botany  and  mineralogy  lead  them 
over  the  hills,  let  them  cherish  a  love  of  fine  prospects,  let 
them  cultivate  the  taste  and  manly  spirit  that  have  origi- 
nated and  carried  forward  so  happily  in  this  college,  the 
horticultural  and  landscape  gardening  association;  and 
there  will  be  cheeks  as  fresh,  and  limbs  as  agile,  and 
animal  spirits  as  buoyant,  as  if  they  spent  three  hours  a 
day  in  a  workshop,  and,  (which  would  be  necessary  in 
some  of  our  institutions,)  as  if  a  thousand  dollars  a  year 
were  expended  to  enable  them  to  do  something  useful. 
It  has  been  a  fault,  which  I  trust  will  be  avoided  here, 
that  this  subject  has  not  been  sufficiently  urged  upon  stu- 
dents in  the  early  part  of  their  course. 

Again  ;  it  is  objected  that  colleges  are  not  practical. 
There  are  some  who  seem  to  be  slow  in  understanding 
what  is  meant  by  the  discipline  of  the  mind,  or  mental 
training,  as  if  it  were  different  in  its  principle  from  a 
military  drill,  in  which  a  series  of  actions  is  performed, 
not  so  much  for  its  own  sake  as  a  preparation  for  the 
future  battle.     It  is  true  the  discipline  must  be  such  as 


246 

will  fit  them  for  the  combat.  We  must  not  put  bows  and 
arrows  into  their  hands  when  they  will  have  to  use  the 
cartridge-box  and  the  musket— but  discipline  there  must 
be.  We  are  indeed  to  consult  utility,  but  it  must  be  in 
its  highest  and  broadest  sense — not  that  eager  utility 
which  would  cut  down  the  tree  for  the  sake  of  sooner 
getting  its  fruit,  its  unripe  fruit ;  but  that  far-sighted  utili- 
ty, which  would  plough  a  crop  under  for  the  sake  of  ben- 
efiting the  soil,  and  which  would  look  forward  to  the 
coincidence  of  its  plans  with  the  high  purposes  of  God  in 
the  creation  of  man.  But  if  there  are  any  who  never 
make  a  distinction  between  general  and  professional  edu- 
cation, who  look  upon  man  solely  as  a  being  who  is  to  be 
fitted  to  make  money  in  some  particular  sphere,  and  not 
as  one  who  has  faculties  to  be  perfected,  to  them  I  have 
nothing  to  say. 

Again ;  it  is  objected  that  colleges  do  not  keep  up  with 
the  spirit  of  the  age.  This  objection  probably  does  not 
always  assume  a  definite  form  in  the  minds  of  those  who 
make  it.  But  if  it  be  intended  that  improvements  in  the 
sciences  are  not  ingrafted,  as  they  are  made,  upon  the 
scientific  courses,  or  that  new  sciences  are  not  introduced 
as  the  wants  of  the  public  demand ;  if  it  be  intended  that 
there  is  an  adherence  to  things  that  are  old  because  they 
are  old, — then,  however  much  ground  there  may  have 
been  for  the  charge  formerly,  and  especially  in  England, 
from  which  this  complaint  is  mostly  imported,  I  do  not 
think  there  is  any  ground  for  it  now.  It  is  within  the 
memory  of  our  older  graduates  that  chemistry,  and  geolo- 
gy, and  mineralogy,  and  botany,  and  political  economy, 
were  either  not  taught  at  all,  or  scarcely  at  all,  in  the  col- 
lege course.  These  have  been  introduced  as  fast  as  the 
sciences  have  become  so  mature  as  to  furnish  good  text 
books  ;  and  now,  if  the  public  will  furnish  us  the  means, 
we  shall  be  glad  to  introduce  more  of  modern  languages, 
and  something  on  constitutional  law,  which  we  intend  to 


247 

introduce,  and  perspective,  and  civil  engineering.  In  re- 
gard to  those  things  which  are  retained,  there  is  not,  to 
my  knowledge,  much  complaint  except  respecting  the 
Latin  and  Greek  languages.  But  this  subject  is  of  so 
wide  a  compass,  and  the  propriety  of  retaining  them  has 
been  so  often  and  so  fully  shown,  that  I  shall  not  enter 
upon  it  here. 

Again ;  it  is  objected  to  colleges  that  they  are  aristo- 
cratic. Besides  those-  who  form  no  theory  of  society, 
there  are  two  classes  who  would  be  thought  to  aim  at  the 
perfection  and  perpetuity  of  republican  institutions,  but 
i  their  methods  are  directly  opposite.  The  one  can  con- 
j  ceive  of  no  improvement  except  by  levelling  every  thing 
I  down — and  probably  there  always  will  exist  in  every 
community  a  sediment  of  such  people,  whose  uneasy 
malignity,  manifesting  itself  in  a  pretended  zeal  for  repub- 
licanism, nothing  but  a  return  of  society  to  a  savage  state 
could  satisfy.  The  other  class  do  what  they  can  to  level 
|iip.  And  if  there  be  one  of  these  who  imagines  that  col- 
i  leges  are  not  co-operating  with  him,  it  is  because  he  is 
entirely  ignorant  of  the  facts.  Must  men  be  told  at  this 
day  that  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  is  the  only  safety  of 
republican  institutions  ?  Or  are  they  ignorant  that  with- 
out higher  seminaries  the  lower  can  never  be  sustained  in 
any  efficiency  ?  Or  that  if  there  were  not  some  institu- 
tions like  colleges,  to  make  education  cheap,  we  should 
soon  have  an  aristocracy  of  knowledge  and  refinement  as 
well  as  of  wealth  ?  On  this  subject  there  is  a  mistake  in 
regard  to  two  points.  One  respects  the  class  of  persons 
who  go  to  college.  While  a  portion  of  these  are  sons  of 
wealthy  men,  the  great  mass  are  the  sons  of  clergymen, 
and  farmers,  and  tradesmen,  who  feel  that  an  education  is 
the  best  patrimony  they  can  bestow  upon  their  children^ 
and  who  are  unable  to  give  them  even  that,  unless  they 
assist  themselves  in  part  by  teaching.  The  most  of  those 
therefore  who  graduate  at  our  colleges  spend  no  incon- 


248 

siderable  portion  of  time,  either  before  or  after  graduating, 
in  teaching,  and  thus  diffusing  the  blessings  of  general 
education.  The  other  point  on  which  there  is  a  mistake, 
respects  the  real  extent  to  which  the  cost  of  education  is 
diminished.  At  this  college  a  young  man  receives  instruc- 
tion, and  has  the  use  of  the  buildings,  and  library,  and 
apparatus,  and  cabinet,  and  pays  the  college  but  about 
thirty-three  dollars  a  year.  The  whole  necessary  expense 
per  annum  is  less  than  one  hundred  dollars ;  a  sum  quite 
insufficient  to  maintain  a  boy  in  a  common  family  school. 
In  addition  to  this,  we  have  funds  bestowed  by  benevo- 
lent individuals,  which  enable  us  to  appropriate  something 
to  meet  the  bills  of  those  who  promise  to  be  useful  but 
are  not  able  to  pay  so  much.  Still  the  whole  expense  is 
greater  than  is  desirable,  and  if  our  funds  would  permit  it 
we  would  gladly  make  it  less.  It  is  thus  that  the  poor 
man  who  has  no  farm  to  give  his  son,  can  give  him  an 
education,  which,  if  he  is  a  suitable  person  to  be  edu- 
cated, is  better.  He  is  thus  enabled  to  start  fairly  in  the 
race  of  competition  with  the  sons  of  the  wealthy.  In  a 
class  in  college,  each  is  on  a  perfect  equality  with  the 
rest,  and  must  stand  on  his  own  merits ;  and  if  the  son  of 
the  rich  should  happen  to  have  the  advantage  in  previous 
training,  he  may  yet  find  that  he  will  have  as  much  as  he 
will  care  to  do  to  maintain  it  in  the  field  of  open  compe- 
tition ;  and  often  when  he  does  his  best,  much  more  if  he 
become  vain  or  frivolous  or  self-indulgent,  will  he  find 
himself  left  behind  by  the  stern  efforts  of  those  who  feel 
that  they  must  depend  on  themselves  alone.  Surely  he 
who  would  tax  and  cripple  colleges,  would  tax  and  de- 
press general  education,  and  keep  down  the  people. 

The  last  objection  against  colleges  which  I  shall  notice, 
comes  from  another  quarter,  and  is,  that  they  do  not  teach 
manners.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that  this  is  not  one 
of  those  things  for  which  we  give  a  diploma.  Good 
manners  certainly  ought  to  exist  and  to  be  acquired  in 


249 

colleges,  and  more  ought  to  be  done  on  this  point  than  is 
done.  Still  there  are  difficulties  in  the  way  which  will 
be  appreciated  by  every  sensible  man.  In  the  first  place, 
manners  cannot  be  taught  by  direct  inculcation  ;  they 
must  mainly  depend  on  parents  and  on  associates  during 
the  earlier  years  of  life.  Again,  many  of  those  who  come 
to  college  are  of  such  an  age  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  remodel  their  manners  entirely  under  the  most  favora- 
ble circumstances.  They  seem  to  have  lost  the  po\ver, 
which  indeed  some  never  had,  of  perceiving  the  difference 
between  the  easy  intercourse  of  good  fellowship  which  is 
consistent  with  self-respect  and  respect  towards  others, 
and  a  coarse  familiarity  which  is  consistent  with  neither. 
There  is  further  a  sentiment  often  prevalent  among 
young  men,  than  which  no  mistake  could  be  greater,  that 
manners  are  of  little  importance,  and  that  to  be  slovenly 
and  slouching,  and  perhaps  well  nigh  disrespectful,  is  a 
mark  of  independence.  But  after  all,  college  is  not,  in 
some  respects,  a  bad  place  to  wear  off  rusticity  and  break 
down  timidity.  And  if  those  who  make  the  complaint 
could  see  the  transformation  and  improvement  which 
really  take  place  in  many,  I  may  say  in  most  instances,  in 
a  college  course,  they  would  perhaps  wonder  that  so  much 
is  accomplished,  rather  than  complain  that  there  is  so  lit- 
tle. Still,  when  a  young  man  comes  with  a  frame  of 
granite  rough  from  the  mountains,  or  as  rough  as  if  he 
came  from  them,  and  has  seen  perhaps  nothing  of  polite 
society,  and  knows  nothing  of  polite  literature,  it  cannot 
be  expected  that  he  should  learn  daring  his  college  course 
the  manners  of  the  drawing-room,  or  the  arbitrary  forms 
of  fashionable  etiquette.  If  he  shall  possess,  as  perhaps 
such  men  ofteuest  do,  that  higher  form  of  politeness 
which  consists  in  respecting  the  feelings  of  others  and 
consulting  their  happmess,  and  we  can  send  him  into  the 
world  with  a  sound  head  and  a  warm  heart  to  labor  for 
the  good  of  the  world,  we  shall  be  satisfied,  and  the 
32 


250 

world  ought  to  be  thankful.      Such  men  often  become 
the  pillars  of  society. 

I  now  proceed  to  make  some  remarks  on  college  gov- 
ernment.    In  regard  to  this,  the  principles  on  which  we 
are  to  proceed  are  very  simple.     As  in  a  community,  so 
in  a  college,  government  ought  always  to  be  regarded,  not 
as  an  end,  but  as  a  means  to  a  further  end.     The  end  of 
a  college  being  education,  there  should  be  no  regulation 
or  restraint  which  is  not  subservient  to  that ;  and  when  it 
becomes  necessary  to  enforce  those  regulations  that  are 
thus  subservient,  it  would  be  treason  to  the  cause  of  edu- 
cation not  to  do  it  at  any  sacrifice.     If  it  should  be  neces- 
sary for  this  purpose  to  send  away  the  half  or  the  whole 
of  a  class,  it  must  be  done  without  hesitation.     It  is, 
however,    always   unfortunate    when    much   is   said   or 
thought   about   government.      There   should   be  among 
young  men  an  ardor  of  study,  a  sense  of  propriety  and 
self-respect,  a  strength  of  moral  principle,  which  would 
render  government  unnecessary,  and  cause  every  thing  to 
move  on  as  it  ought,  spontaneously.     That  college  is  in 
the  best  state  in  which  the  least  government  is  necessary. 
Closely  connected  with  the  government  of  a  college,  is 
the  manner  of  intercourse   between  the  officers  and  stu- 
dents.    In  this  a  great,  and  no  doubt  a  beneficial  change 
has  taken  place.     It  is  within  the  memory  of  some  who 
hear  me,  that  seniors  had  well  nigh  despotic  authority 
over  freshmen,  could  send  them  of  errands,  exact  their 
obeisance,  and  settle  authoritatively  their  disputes  ;  and 
the  distance  within  which  a  student  might  approach  an 
officer  without  taking  off  his  hat,  was  prescribed  by  law. 
All  this  was  as  little  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  man, 
as  with  the  spirit  of  our  institutions,  and  we  have  no  wish 
for  its  return.     Nor  do  we  desire  any  form,  except  so  far 
as  it  is  useful  in  fitting  men  for  society,  and  in  keeping 
alive  in   the   minds  of  the   young  that  respect  towards 


251 

others  which  ought  to  be  cherished  for  their  own  sakes. 
He  who  has  no  respect  for  those  qualities  which  fit  men 
for  responsible  situations,  can  have  no  i)roper  sense  or 
appreciation  of  them,  and  he  who  has  no  sense  of  those 
qualities  can  never  attain  them.  As  he  alone  is  fit  to 
command  who  knows  how  to  obey,  so  he  alone  who 
knows  how  to  pay  respect  will  ever  come  to  deserve  it. 
Hence  it  is  that  pertness  and  self-conceit,  and  disregard  of 
those  who  ought  to  be  respected,  are  so  very  unpromising 
symptoms  in  the  young.  There  is,  indeed,  between  the 
officers  and  students  of  a  college,  something  of  official 
intercourse  ;  and  all  the  usages  of  society  require  that 
when  this  is  the  case  there  should  be  something  of  official 
respect.  But  in  general  the  intercourse  between  the 
officers  and  students  ought  to  be  free  and  unrestrained, 
and  precisely  that  which  takes  places  between  one  gen- 
tleman and  another  in  good  society. 

But  the  great  point  here  is, — and  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary in  order  to  carry  forward  the  principle  of  instruction 
of  which  I  have  spoken, — that  there  should  be  such  an 
intercourse  and  state  of  feeling  that  the  officers  and  stu- 
dents can  go  on  harmoniously  together,  and  feel  that  they 
have  a  common  object.  This  is  all-important ;  and  there 
is  in  regard  to  it  much  need  of  reformation.  A  young 
man  often  enters  college  with  the  impression  that  the 
faculty  and  students  are  opposite  parties  with  opposing 
interests.  As  long  as  he  has  such  a  feeling,  it  would  be 
better  for  him  and  for  the  institution  that  he  should  be 
away.  On  this  subject,  I  have  recently  met  with  a  letter 
from  Fellenburg,  in  which  my  sentiments  are  so  fully 
expressed  that  I  shall  quote  a  iew  sentences  from  it. 
'^  They,"  says  he,  referring  to  this  class  of  young  men, 
"consider  teachers  and  pupils  as  opposite  parties  with  dis- 
tinct interests,  or  at  best  as  rulers  and  subjects,  the  former 
seeking  for  power,  and  the  latter  having  the  right  of 
resistance.     They  cannot  understand  our  desire  to  act  as 


252 

parents,  who  seek  to  direct  and  restrain  their  children  in 
order  to  improve  their  character  and  secare  their  happi- 
ness. Tiiey  attribute  to  the  lowest  and  most  sordid 
motives  all  that  is  done  to  furnish  an  education  truly 
Christian  and  entirely  disinterested;  an  education  liberally 
provided  for  in  reference  both  to  science  and  the  arts. 
Pupils  of  this  character  often  find  their  greatest  pleasure 
in  defeating  all  the  efforts  which  are  made  for  their  im- 
provement, instead  of  co-operating  in  them  and  consider- 
ing their  own  best  interests  as  identified  with  the  success 
of  their  teachers."  If  such  a  state  of  things  must  exist 
in  our  colleges,  they  ought  not  to  be  sustained. 

It  was  my  intention  to  consider  at  this  point  some  of 
the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  our  success  ;  but  as  I  have 
already  occupied  so  much  time,  I  shall  only  indicate 
them. 

One  is,  want  of  preparation  on  the  part  of  many. 
Much  of  what  is  done  in  colleges,  especially  in  the  lan- 
guages, ought  to  be  done  before  entering. 

Another  is,  the  necessity  of  so  much  absence  for  the 
purpose  of  teaching.  This  breaks  up  and  retards  a  class, 
and  makes  general  scholarship  meagre. 

Another  is,  the  want  of  interest  on  the  part  of  parents. 
If  parents  would  come  with  their  sons,  or  occasionally 
visit  them,  or  let  us  know  by  letter  their  peculiarities  and 
tempers,  we  might  sometimes  avoid  mistakes. 

Another  is,  the  diversity  of  ages,  capacities  and  tastes. 
Many  enter  too  young. 

But  the  great  difliculties  with  which  we  have  to  con- 
tend, result  from  influences  that  flow  in  from  the  com- 
munity ;  and  if  they  would  have  colleges  what  they 
ought  to  be,  they  must  be  what  they  ought  to  be  them- 
selves. A  college  is  not  an  isolated  community.  No 
place  sooner  feels  the  undulations  of  public  sentiment  ; 
and  it  is  impossible  that  it  should  not  partake  of  the  tone 
of  feeling  and  adopt  the  practices  of  the  community  in 


253 

which  it  is.  The  young  man  does  not  forget,  on  coming 
to  college,  the  associations  and  habits  of  home  ;  and  if 
smoking,  or  drinking,  or  profane  swearing,  or  gambhng, 
or  any  other  habit,  is  prevalent  in  a  community,  then  it 
cannot  be  entirely  excluded  from  the  colleges.  They  can 
never  be  what  they  ought,  till  the  general  tone  of  moral 
feeling  in  the  community  is  elevated. 

The  remarks  already  made  may  suffice  to  indicate  my 
views  of  the  general  course  of  instruction  and  govern- 
ment that  should  be  pursued  in  our  colleges.  In  carrying 
out  these  views,  I  have  the  liappiness  to  know  that  I  shall 
not  have  to  labor  alone ;  that  I  shall  have  associates  in 
whom  I  can  confide — some  of  them  of  wider  experience 
and  maturer  views,  than  myself — who  will  not  merely 
second  my  endeavors,  but  who  will  go  abreast  with  me 
in  bearing  the  responsibilities  and  sustaining  the  labors 
which  are  inseparable  from  a  faithful  performance  of  the 
important  trusts  committed  to  us.  But  with  all  their  aid, 
and  the  indulgence  which  I  may  hope  for  from  the  pub- 
lic, it  is  with  much  diffidence  and  self-distrust  that  I  enter 
upon  the  office  to  which  I  am  called.  Whether  I  remem- 
ber the  venerable  men  who  have  preceded  me,  and  es- 
pecially my  distinguished  predecessor  to  whom  this  col- 
lege is  so  largely  indebted,  or  the  high  reputation  of  this 
institution,  or  the  standing  and  influence  of  its  alumni,  or 
the  standard  of  education  now  demanded,  or  the  character 
of  the  times  for  excitement  and  change  and  reckless 
attack  upon  those  who  conduct  our  public  institutions,  I 
feel  that  the  responsibilities  and  labors  and  inquietudes 
of  the  office  will  be  fully  equal  to  its  honor.  I  enter 
upon  it  with  no  excitement  of  novelty,  with  no  buzz  of 
expectation,  with  no  accession  of  influence  to  the  college 
from  abroad,  and  with  no  expectation  of  pleasing  every 
body.  I  have  no  ambition  to  build  up  here  what  would 
be  called  a  great  institution  j  the  wants  of  the  commu- 


254 

nity  do  not  require  it.  But  I  do  desire  and  shall  labor 
that  this  may  be  a  safe  college  ;  that  its  reputation  may 
be  sustained  and  raised  still  higher ;  that  the  plan  of  in- 
struction which  I  have  indicated  may  be  carried  out  more 
fully ;  that  here  there  may  be  health,  and  cheerful  study, 
and  kind  feelings,  and  pure  morals ;  and  that,  in  the 
memory  of  future  students,  college  life  may  be  made  a 
still  more  verdant  spot. 

But  deep  as  is  my  anxiety  when  I  look  at  the  connec- 
tion of  this  college  with  the  interests  of  science  and  lite- 
rature, it  is  far  deeper  when  I  look  at  its  connection  with 
the  immortal  destinies  of  those  who  shall  come  here,  and 
with  the  progress  of  the  cause  of  Christ  and  the  conver- 
sion of  the  world.  The  true  and  permanent  interests  of 
man  can  be  promoted  only  in  connection  with  religion ; 
and  a  regard  to  man  as  an  immortal,  accountable  and 
redeemed  being,  should  give  its  character  to  the  whole 
course  of  our  regulations  and  the  spirit  of  our  instructions. 
This  college  has  for  a  long  time  been  regarded,  and  not 
without  reason,  with  interest  and  affection  by  the  churches. 
Of  its  whole  number  of  graduates,  as  many  as  one  third 
have  devoted  themselves  to  the  Christian  ministry,  and 
recently  a  larger  proportion.  It  was  on  this  ground  that 
American  missions  had  their  origin.  It  was  here  that 
Mills  and  Hall  prayed,  and  their  mantle  has  so  descended 
on  the  institution,  that  now  we  can  hardly  turn  our  eyes 
to  a  missionary  station  where  one  or  more  of  its  sons  are 
not  to  be  found.  Others  are  on  their  way,  and  there  is 
remaining  behind  an  association  devoted  to  the  same 
glorious  work.  This  college  has  also  been  the  scene  of 
revivals  of  religion,  pure  and  repeated  and  mighty,  which 
have  caused,  and  are  still  causing,  joy  on  earth  and  in 
heaven.  It  is  upon  these,  and  upon  the  higher  standard 
of  consistent  piety  that  follows  in  their  train,  that  we 
mainly  rest  our  hopes  for  the  distinguished  usefulness  of 
this  college.     For  these  let  the  churches  pray ;  and  let 


255 

them  join  with  us,  in  the  words  of  my  venerable  prede- 
cessor when  this  building  was  dedicated,  ''  in  devoting 
this  College  to  the  Holy  Spirit  as  a  scene  of  revivals  of 
religion,  and  to  the  blessed  Redeemer  as  an  engine  to 
bring  on  the  millennial  glory  of  His  church."  This 
would  we  do,  not  only  as  the  friends  of  religion,  but  as 
the  friends  of  science,  and  of  a  pure  literature,  and  of  the 
freest  spirit  of  inquiry.  We  would  do*  it  that  we  may 
disabuse  the  world  of  the  absurd  prejudice  that  the 
knowledge  of  God  cramps  the  mind,  and  disqualifies  it 
for  the  study  of  his  works — that  we  may  hasten  that  day, 
which  must  come,  when  it  shall  be  seen  and  felt  that 
there  is  a  coincidence  and  essential  unity  between  reason 
and  religion ;  when  the  spirit  of  literature  and  the  spirit 
of  science  shall  minister  before  the  spirit  of  piety,  and 
pour  their  oil  into  the  lamp  that  feeds  its  waxing  flame  ; 
when  study  shall  be  nerved  to  its  highest  efforts  by  Chris- 
tian benevolence,  and  young  men  shall  grow  up  at  the 
same  time  into  the  light  of  science  and  the  beauty  of 
holiness. 


ADDRESS, 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  SOCIETY  OF  ALUMNI  OF  WILLIAMS  COLLEGE, 
AT  THE  CELEBRATION  OF  THE  SEMI-CENTENNIAL  ANNIVERSARY, 

August  16,  1843. 


Brethren  Alumni  : — It  is  my  first,  and  most  pleasing 
duty,  to  bid  you  welcome  to  this  spot.  I  do  it  with  a  full 
heart.  I  do  it  personally,  as  an  Alumnus  of  this  Institu- 
tion to  his  brethren  Alumni.  I  do  it  feelingly,  as  holding 
a  position  in  which  I  need  your  sympathy  and  approba- 
tion ;  in  which,  aside  from  those  high  moral  considerations 
which  I  trust  will  always  be  paramount,  I  find  in  that 
sympathy  my  best  encouragement  to  labor ;  in  that  appro- 
bation, my  highest  reward.  I  do  it  as  gladdened  and 
strengthened  by  your  presence  ;  for  few  as  have  been  the 
difficulties  I  have  been  called  to  encounter,  they  have  yet 
been  enough  to  make  me  feel  how  like  the  sunshine  after 
clouds  is  the  presence  of  so  many  here  to-day,  come  up  to 
manifest  their  continued  attachment  to  the  cause  of  sound 
learning,  their  interest  in  each  other,  and  in  the  prosperity 
of  this  Institution.  Men  of  earlier  times,  to  whom  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  look  up  with  reverence  ;  men  in 
active  life,  who  have  left  your  business  and  your  cares  to 
join  in  these  glad  scenes  ;  and  you,  younger  men,  who 
have  gone  out  with  my  own  instructions   and   parting 


257 

blessing,  it   is   with   emotions  which  I   cannot   express 
that  I  welcome  you  all. 

But  it  is  not  in  my  own  name  only,  or  chiefly,  that  I 
bid  you  welcome.  It  is  in  the  name  of  our  venerated 
Alma  Mater.  With  her  you  have  sympathized,  in  her 
prosperity,  and  in  her  adversity.  When  she  has  been  in 
poverty  and  distress,  when  she  has  been  opposed  and  mis- 
represented by  ignorance  and  prejudice  and  faction,  when 
the  flames  have  swept  over  her,  she  has  still  heard  your 
voice  of  encouragement,  and  has  been  sustained  by  your 
generous  aid.  In  your  hearts,  far  rather  than  in  buildings 
and  in  apparatus,  she  has  hitherto  had,  and  still  has  her 
best  and  her  highest  life.  In  her  name,  then,  I  bid  you 
welcome  to  her  quiet  seats,  to  this  green  spot  in  the 
memory  of  the  past,  to  these  familiar  scenes,  these  remem- 
bered walks,  to  the  sound  of  that  bell,  not  unwelcome 
now,  to  these  circling  and  unchanged  mountains,  to  this 
scenery  unsurpassed.  Especially  do  I  bid  you  welcome 
to  the  fellowship  of  this  literary  festival,  where,  with  our 
congratulations  in  view  of  the  progress  and  success  of 
fifty  years,  we  may  mingle  our  hopes  of  a  brighter  future. 

Fifty  years !  What  changes  do  not  these  words  sug- 
gest— some  of  them  occurring  in  those  ordinary  and 
ever  repeated  movements  of  nature  which  return  upon 
themselves,  and  some  in  that  onward  march  of  things 
which  is  made  known  only  as  the  scroll  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence is  unrolled  !  Fifty  years  !  So  many  times  has  the 
verdure  of  spring  been  seen  to  brighten  this  valley,  and  to 
creep  up  the  sides  of  these  mountains ;  so  many  times 
have  their  tops  slept  in  the  sunlight  of  the  summer  noon ; 
so  many  times  have  they  put  on  the  gorgeous  robes  of  au- 
tumn, and  been  swept  bare  and  rested  in  the  embrace  of 
winter.  These  changes  have  passed  upon  them,  but  they 
are  still  the  same.  Not  so  those  who  have  looked  upon 
them.  Of  those  who  were  in  active  life  at  the  commence- 
ment of  this  period,  few,  if  any,  remain.  He  that  was 
33 


258 

then  an  infant  clinging  to  his  mother's  bosom^  is  now  a 
man  with  gray  hairs  upon  him,  and  with  his  children 
grown  up  around  him.  In  the  meantime,  with  the  regu- 
larity of  the  seasons,  there  has  come  the  Senior  Examina- 
tion, and  then  the  Commencement,  with  its  greetings, 
and  partings,  and  wide  dispersion ;  with  its  gathered 
crowd  that  has  come  in  like  the  rush  of  the  brook  after  a 
shower,  and  has  again  dispersed,  leaving  these  streets 
solitary  and  quiet.  During  this  time  more  than  a  thou- 
sand young  men  have  received  the  honors  of  this  Insti- 
tution. Here  they  have  been  agitated  with  the  hopes  and 
fears,  and  have  shared  the  pleasures  and  perils  of  this 
miniature  world.  From  this  retreat  they  have  looked  out 
upon  the  ocean  they  were  to  sail,  and  have  gathered 
strength  and  skill  for  the  voyage.  Ah !  who  can  tell  how 
many  anxious  thoughts,  how  many  hopes  and  fears  of 
parents,  how  many  fervent  prayers  have  clustered  round, 
and  ascended  for  all  these  !  Daring  this  time  too,  the 
heads  of  the  three  venerable  men  who  have  presided  over 
the  Institution,  have  been  laid  low.  Fitch  and  Moore 
and  Griffin,  whose  voices  have  so  often  been  heard  in 
this  place,  and  were  once  so  familiar  to  many  of  you, 
where  are  they ! 

Such  have  been  the  changes  in  this  valley.  Need  I 
refer  to  those  that  have  passed  upon  the  great  theatre  of 
the  world  ?  It  was  often  said  by  Dr.  GriiRn,  that  this 
College  came  into  being  at  the  commencement  of  a  new 
era.  It  was  just  then  that  the  smoke  and  the  lava  of  the 
French  Revolution  began  to  be  thrown  up,  and  that  the 
shocks  of  that  great  moral  earthquake  began  to  be  felt 
among  the  nations.  Infidelity,  having  gained  the  ascen- 
dency in  France,  was  then  mustering  and  concentrating 
her  forces,  and  was  sending  out  her  emissaries  to  convert 
the  nations,  and  anarchy  and  bloodshed  were  following  in 
her  train.  These  events  alone  have  marked  the  period  as 
an  era  among  historians,  and  have  caused  it  to  be  regarded 


259 

by  the  interpreters  of  prophecy  as  the  opening  of  a  new- 
seal.  But  besides  these,  it  was  the  same  year  that  Carey 
and  his  associates  were  ordained  to  the  great  work  of 
modern  missions,  and  that  the  angel  having  tlie  everlasting 
gospel  to  preach  among  the  benighted  nations  of  the 
East,  began  his  flight.  This  was  the  commencement  of 
a  movement  far  more  important  than  the  French  Revo- 
lution. It  was  as  the  invention  of  the  art  of  printing  to 
the  effects  of  a  battle.  It  was  a  moral  movement,  em- 
bracing in  itself  not  only  moral,  but  political  revolutions, 
which  are  to  be  accomplished,  not  by  blood,  but  by  the 
noiseless  and  irresistible  progress  of  truth  and  love.  la 
the  same  year,  too,  commenced  that  series  of  revivals  of 
religion  in  this  country,  which  has  never  since  entirely 
ceased,  in  connection  with  which  this  College  has  been 
so  largely  blessed,  and  in  consequence  of  which  alone  it 
has  been  sustained. 

Coming  into  being  at  such  an  era,  its  first  half  century 
could  not  but  be  eventful  in  the  history  of  the  race. 
Perhaps  no  fifty  years  since  the  world  began  has  been 
more  so.  And  in  connection  with  the  great  events  that 
have  taken  place,  the  human  mind  has  been  thoroughly 
agitated  and  aroused.  Every  institution  has  been  scruti- 
nized, every  opinion  has  been  tested,  and  certain  great 
truths  with  reference  to  civil  and  religious  liberty  have, 
as  we  trust,  become  so  firmly  established  that  they  cannot 
be  shaken.  It  has  been  the  era  of  the  application  of 
science  to  the  arts,  and  of  the  extension  of  the  dominion 
of  man  over  physical  nature.  If  man  had  been  endowed 
with  the  strength  of  a  giant,  and  with  the  wings  of  an 
eagle,  the  gift  would  hardly  have  been  greater.  It  has 
been  the  era  of  the  extension  of  liberty,  and  of  the  dif- 
fusion of  knowledge  among  the  masses — not  merely  an 
era  of  change,  but  also  decidedly  an  era  of  progress. 

And  this  leads  me  to  the  topic  to  which  I  propose  to 
call  your  attention  on  the  present  occasion.     I  propose  to 


260 

make  some  remarks  and  inquiries  respecting  what  has 
been  called  the  law  of  progress  of  the  race,  and  then 
to  say  sometliing  of  the  connection  of  this  College  with 
that  progress. 

The  questions  of  deepest  interest  to  man  are  those 
which  relate,  not  to  the  destiny  of  the  race,  but  of  the 
indiv^idual.  If  we  are  to  perish  at  death,  it  matters  little 
to  us  whether  the  race  of  man  is  to  be  destroyed  immedi- 
ately after,  or  to  remain  forever  ;  or  whether  it  is  yet  to 
await  the  coming  round  of  some  great  geological  cycle, 
when  his  bones  and  his  works,  found  in  the  more  recent 
strata,  shall  be  his  only  record  to  the  race  that  shall  suc- 
ceed him.  Still,  and  this  is  one  argument  for  our  immor- 
tality, we  do  feel  a  deep  interest  in  those  who  shall  come 
after  us,  and  we  wish  to  know  the  channels  along  which 
the  mighty  current  of  events  wiU  wind  in  coming  time. 

But  we  have  only  two  modes  of  penetrating  the  future. 
One  is  by  experience.  This  enables  us,  supposing  the 
course  of  nature  to  be  uniform,  and  human  nature  to  re- 
main as  it  is,  to  tell,  in  general,  what  the  course  of  events 
will  be,  by  transferring  to  the  future  a  modified  past.  The 
other  mode  of  knowing  the  future  is  by  prophecy,-  in 
which  the  question  is  not  about  tendencies,  or  principles, 
or  general  laws,  but  about  what  a  free  and  personal  God  has 
said  he  will  do.  Hence  there  are  two  points  of  view  both 
of  the  past  and  of  the  future.  In  the  one  case  we  see  a 
personal  God  carrying  forward  his  providence  with  refer- 
ence to  the  great  ends  of  his  moral  government,  causing 
the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  him,  destroying  nations  for 
their  wickedness  when  their  iniquity  was  full,  and  closing 
up  the  great  drama  of  time  with  a  universal  and  righteous 
judgment.  In  the  other,  there  is  indeed  a  verbal  recog- 
nition of  God,  but  every  thing  is  referred  to  the  action  of 
uniform  laws,  and  to  the  development  of  tendencies  sup- 
posed to  be  inherent  in  the  nature  of  things.  According 
to  this,  the  race  is  said  to  have  a  growth,  a  development, 


261 

in  the  same  way  as  an  individual  man.  Every  thing  is 
supposed  to  go  on  in  regular  order.  That  which  precedes 
prepares  the  way  for  that  which  follows,  and  that  which 
follows  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  that  which  pre- 
cedes. The  individual  man  is  nothing,  and  the  course  of 
events  and  the  destiny  of  the  race  are  every  thing.  Every 
thing  is  good  in  its  place.  Wars  and  revolutions  and 
tumults  are  but  the  necessary  struggle  of  the  new  ideas 
with  those  that  are  old  and  ready  to  vanish  away,  and  all 
apparent  stagnation  or  retrogression  is  only  as  the  dam- 
ming up  of  water  that  is  accumulating  its  force,  or  as  the 
retreat  of  one  who  is  to  make  a  mightier  leap.  Great  men 
are  the  product  of  the  age,  its  representatives,  coming 
when  they  are  needed,  and  instead  of  controlling  and 
shaping  the  course  of  events,  as  was  formerly  supposed, 
they  are  controlled  and  shaped  by  it.  As  there  are  not 
the  same  reasons  for  the  decay  of  the  race  as  of  th^  indi- 
vidual, this  view  has  naturally  given  rise  to  a  belief  in  the 
law  of  progress,  and  in  the  doctrine  of  human  perfecti- 
bility. 

As  these  points  of  view  are  so  different,  I  will  just 
observe  here,  that  when  they  become  entirely  separated, 
they  will  produce  atheism  or  pantheism  on  the  one  hand, 
and  superstition  and  fanaticism  on  the  other.  He  who 
severs  the  connection  between  the  uniform  movements  of 
nature  and  the  freewill  of  God,  is  an  atheist  or  a  pantheist ; 
and  he  Avho  does  not  sufficiently  heed  the  stated  order  of 
providence,  and  imputes  too  much  to  direct  interposition, 
is  superstitious  and  fanatical. 

The  true  point  of  view  undoubtedly  is  gained  by  com- 
bining the  two.  By  doing  this  we  have  a  uniform  course 
of  events  as  the  basis  of  experience  and  a  ground  of  rational 
effort  to  man  ;  but  that  course  is  sustained  by  the  agency 
of  a  personal  God,  and  is  carried  on  in  entire  subserviency 
to  great  moral  ends.  If,  therefore,  we  would  read  aright 
the  history  of  the  future,  we  must  consult,  not  only  the 


262 

records  of  the  past,  but  also  that  ''  sure  word  of  prophecy 
which  holy  men  of  old  spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the 
Holy  Ghost."  We  must  look,  not  solely  to  the  philo- 
sophic^ but  also  to  the  prophetic  mode  of  knowing  what  is 
to  come. 

But  when  we  inquire,  as  we  now  do,  concerning  a  law, 
or  a  tendency,  it  is  plain  that  we  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  prophetic  mode.  The  simple  question  is  whether 
there  is,  inwrought  into  the  constitution  of  things,  a  law 
of  progress  of  the  race,  or  a  tendency  towards  it,  which 
we  may  hope  to  see  realized. 

The  idea  of  such  a  law  has  arisen,  not  only  from  the 
view  which  I  have  mentioned,  but  in  connection  with  a 
remarkable  change  in  the  views  and  habits  of  thought  of 
the  community  respecting  the  point  to  which  they  were 
to  look  for  improvement.  There  was  a  time  when  the 
antiquity  of  the  world  was  associated  with  the  wisdom  of 
old  age,  and  when  it  was  supposed  that  all  wisdom  was 
to  be  found  in  the  records,  and  all  excellence  in  the  models 
of  the  past.  But  when  the  human  mind  was  aroused  as 
it  was  by  the  Reformation  and  the  invention  of  the  art  of 
Printing ;  when  Columbus  discovered  new  continents  on 
the  earth,  and  Galileo  new  worlds  in  the  heavens  ;  when 
Bacon  introduced  his  new  method,  and  Newton  weighed 
the  planets  and  decomposed  the  sunbeam ;  it  was  impos- 
sible that  the  same  reverence  for  antiquity  should  con- 
tinue ;  and,  as  was  natural,  an  opposite  feeling  took  its 
place.  Instead  of  supposing  that  mankind  had  already 
attained  all  the  perfection  of  which  they  were  capable, 
and  that  nothing  remained  but  to  carry  modern  degene- 
racy up  to  the  heights  of  ancient  achievement,  it  was 
said  that  the  ancient  world  was  really, the  infant  world, 
and  that  to  us  moderns  belonged  the  honor  of  the  hoary 
head  in  the  life  of  the  race.  Hence  arose  an  impression 
that  all  the  arts,  and  science,  and  philosophy,  and  institu- 
tions of  the  ancients  were  imperfect,  from  the  simple  fact 


263 

that  they  were  ancient,  and  therefore  the  product  of  an 
immature  age  of  the  world  ;  and  the  eyes  of  men  were 
turned  from  the  past  to  the  future,  and  to  those  ideal 
models,  dim  and  shadowy,  which  were  sketched  quite  as 
often  by  the  imagination  as  by  the  judgment.  Then,  as 
hterary,  and  scientific,  and  commercial  intercourse  in- 
creased, the  great  idea  arose  that  there  was  a  commu- 
nity, instead  of  an  opposition,  of  interest  among  nations, 
till  at  length,  when  the  figure  and  extent  of  the  earth,  and 
the  condition  of  its  inhabitants  became  known,  and  facil- 
ities of  intercourse  were  increased,  there  was  originated 
the  idea  of  a  reciprocal  influence,  a  common  bond  of 
interest,  and  a  law  of  progress  for  all  ;  till  now  there  is 
scarcely  a  periodical,  or  a  lecture,  or  a  literary  address,  in 
which  this  law  is  not  spoken  of  as  familiarly  and  as 
confidently  as  the  law  of  gravitation  itself. 

As  was  to  be  expected,  an  idea  so  exciting  to  the  imag- 
ination has  been  carried  too  far,  and  has  given  rise  to 
something  of  extravagance,  and  to  something  of  cant. 
With  this  for  their  watchword,  and  probably  honestly  be- 
lieving themselves  under  its  influence,  egotistical  and 
unquiet  and  ambitious  men,  and  men  of  one  idea,  have 
attacked  without  scruple  or  discrimination  every  thing 
that  was  old  ;  have  eagerly  adopted  new  systems  of 
thought,  or  those  supposed  to  be  new  ;  have  originated 
impracticable  schemes,  and  have  been  zealous  in  intro- 
ducing them,  little  regarding  their  congruity  with  the 
existing  state  of  things.  When  all  this  has  produced  its 
natural  consequences,  division  and  confusion,  they  have 
cried  out — progress ;  thus  mistaking  the  commotion 
caused  in  the  vitals  of  society  by  the  crudities  with  which 
they  have  drugged  it,  for  the  excitement  of  healthy  action. 
Even  the  Bible  has  been  supposed  to  have  grown  obsolete, 
and  to  need  to  be  adapted  to  the  progress  of  the  age. 

What  then  is  the  true  idea  of  progress  ?     And  here 
I  observe,  that  the  idea  of  progress  presupposes  a  defi- 


264 

nite  object  to  be  attained,  and  a  movement  towards  that 
object.  It  is  not  the  tossing  of  a  vessel  on  the  waves 
without  a  rudder  or  a  compass  ;  it  implies  that  there  is  a 
port,  and  that  the  ship  is  tending  towards  it.  Unless  there 
is  some  definite  idea,  towards  the  realization  of  which 
society  is  moving,  there  can  be  no  progress.  There  may 
be,  as  there  now  is  and  has  long  been  in  many  parts  of 
South  America,  excitement,  agitation,  confusion  ;  society 
may  be  broken  into  fragments  ;  there  may  be  collisions  of 
local  and  individual  interests ;  but  all  may  be  chaotic,  the 
movement  may  be  without  direction,  the  agitation  without 
result.  In  such  a  state  of  things  there  can  be  no  progress 
till  society  becomes  organized,  and  begins  to  move  forward 
towards  some  definite  object.  Let  this  take  place,  let  any 
idea  become  the  prominent  and  governing  idea  in  the 
community,  and  it  will  be  supposed  there  is  progress  when 
men  are  in  the  process  of  realizing  that  idea.  Is  war  and 
conquest,  as  it  has  often  been,  the  prominent  idea  ?  Then 
there  is  progress  when  the  science,  the  instruments  and 
the  art  of  war  are  becoming  more  perfect.  Is  luxury  and 
sensual  gratification  the  leading  idea  ?  Then  there  is 
progress  when  a  new  dish  is  invented,  and  when,  as  in 
ancient  Sybaris,  the  cocks  are  prevented  from  crowing  in 
the  morning.  Is  wealth  the  leading  idea  ?  There  is 
progress  when  the  country  is  becoming  rich.  Is  it  the 
power  of  man  over  external  nature  ?  or  liberty  ?  or  equal- 
ity ?  or  the  perfection  of  the  fine  arts  ?  There  will  be 
supposed  to  be  progress  when  there  is  an  approximation 
to  the  attainment  of  these.  Would  there  then  be  a  true 
progress  in  the  advancement  of  society  towards  any  or  all 
of  these  ends  ?  Yes,  on  condition,  and  only  on  condition, 
that  society  would  thus  attain  a  true  end,  and  not  a 
means. 

The  true  idea  of  progress,  then,  is  not  that  of  move- 
ment, or  simply  of  progression  towards  the  realization  of 
an  idea ;  but  it  involves  a  recognition  of  the  true  end  of 


265 

man  as  a  social  being,  and  an  approacli  towards  that. 
This  end  I  suppose  to  be,  the  upbuilding  and  perfection 
of  the  individual  man  in  every  thing  that  makes  him  truly 
man.  I  hold,  that  the  germ  of  all  political  and  social 
well-being  is  to  be  found  in  the  progress  of  the  individual 
towards  the  true  and  the  highest  end  for  whicli  he  was 
made.  And  here  we  have  an  instance  of  that  incidental 
accomplishment  of  subordinate  ends  in  the  attaimiient  of 
one  that  is  higher,  that  is  every  where  so  conspicuous  in 
the  works  of  God.  Is  it  the  end  of  the  processes  of 
vegetation  to  perfect  the  seed?  It  is  only  wlien  tliose 
processes  move  on  to  the  successful  accomplishment  of 
that,  that  we  can  have  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  the 
flower,  or  the  shade  and  freshness  of  the  green  leaves. 
So  here,  we  find  that  social  good  can  be  wrought  out, 
and  social  ends  be  attained,  only  as  individuals  are  per- 
fected in  their  character  ;  and  that  the  beauty  and  fragrance 
and  broad  shade  of  a  perfect  society  would  grow,  without 
effort  or  contrivance,  from  the  progress  of  the  individuals 
of  society  towards  their  true  perfection  and  end.  Thus, 
and  thus  only,  can  we  have  that  state  of  ideal  perfection 
in  which  perfect  liberty  would  be  combined  with  perfect 
security,  and  with  all  the  advantages  of  the  social  state. 
If  this  be  so,  then  political  organizations,  which  are 
merely  means  to  an  end,  are  most  perfect  when  they  so 
combine  protection  with  freedom  as  to  give  the  most 
favorable  theatre  for  the  growth,  and  enjoyment,  and  per- 
fection of  the  individual  man ;  and  that  society  itself  is 
most  perfect,  whatever  its  form  may  be,  in  which  the 
greatest  number  of  individuals  recognize  and  pursue  this 
end.  It  cannot  be  too  often  repeated,  that  the  ends  of 
society  are  not  realized  when  there  are  great  aggregate 
results,  magnificent  public  works,  great  accumulations  of 
wealth  and  of  the  means  of  sensual  and  sensitive  enjoy- 
ment, with  the  degradation,  or  without  the  growth  of 
individuals ;  and  that  all  changes  in  the  forms  of  institu- 


266 

tions  and  the  direction  of  active  industry,  must  be  futile, 
which  do  not  originate  in,  or  draw  after  them  an  improve- 
ment in  the  character  of  individuals.  But  it  is  self-evi- 
dent that  society  can  furnish  a  free  arena  for  individual 
growth,  only  as  the  principles  of  justice  and  benevolence 
are  recognized — only  as  the  spirit  of  that  great  precept  of 
doing  to  others  as  we  would  that  they  should  do  unto  us, 
pervades  the  mass.  The  fundamental  condition,  then,  of 
any  progress  that  can  be  permanent,  and  solid,  and  uni- 
versal, is  a  moral  condition.  Let  this  exist,  and  there 
will  come  in,  as  accessory,  progress  in  science  and  in  arts 
and  in  wealth  ;  but  without  this,  whatever  progress  may 
be  made  in  physical  improvements,  there  will  be  constant 
agitation  and  restlessness ;  and  through  every  change  of 
form,  society  will  continue  to  be  like  that  stick  of  which 
most  of  us  have  heard,  which  was  '  so  crooked  that  it 
could  not  lie  still. ^ 

If  then  there  be  a  law  of  progress  for  the  race,  it  must 
be  one  by  which  society  advances  towards  a  state  of 
things  such  as  has  just  been  described.  And  that  there  is 
such  a  law,  is  affirmed  on  three  distinct  grounds :  The 
first  is,  that  such  a  law  is  required  for  the  vindication  of 
the  wisdom  of  Divine  Providence.  It  is  supposed  that 
the  world  would  be  a  failure  unless  it  should  manifest  the 
evolution  of  a  regular  plan,  whose  parts  should  succeed 
each  other  like  the  five  acts  of  a  drama,  and  form  by 
tliemselves,  when  time  was  over,  a  completed  whole. 
But  it  is  far  safer  and  more  becoming  to  ascertain  what 
Divine  Providence  has  done,  and  then  presume  it  to  be 
wise,  rather  than  first  to  assert  what  would  be  wise,  and 
then  to  presume  that  Divine  Providence  has  done  it.  It 
may  be  so.  It  would  be  in  accordance  with  the  analogy 
of  God^s  works  in  which  we  so  often  find,  as  in  the  vision 
of  the  prophet,  a  wheel  within  a  wheel.  But  it  may  also 
be,  that  this  world  holds  in  the  plans  of  God  the  same 
relation  that  the  nursery  holds  to  the  fields  of  transplanted 


267 

trees,  and  that  its  end  lies  entirely  beyond  itself.  If  so- 
ciety had  always  remained  in  a  patriarchal  or  nomadic 
state,  withont  any  thing  of  what  we  call  progress,  and 
there  had  simply  come  up  such  men  as  Abraham,  and 
Isaac,  and  Jacob,  to  spend  here  '^  the  days  of  the  years  of 
their  pilgrimage  "  and  then  go  up  higher,  who  would  say 
that  the  world  had  been  a  failure  ?  This  question  man 
cannot  decide  without  a  wider  survey  of  the  plans  of  God 
than  falls  within  our  present  vision,  and  hence  we  cannot 
rely  upon  any  argument  for  such  a  law,  drawn  from  this 
source. 

The  second  ground,  on  which  the  existence  of  this  law 
has  been  argued,  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  product 
of  the  human  mind  is  not  mere  sensations  that  perish  as 
they  arise,  but  that  we  inherit  the  experience^and  knowl- 
edge of  all  who  have  gone  before  us.  This  is^d,  great 
fact,  and  on  it  the  capacity  of  the  race  for  improvement 
is  based.  It  gives  a  tendency  to  improvement,  and  that 
tendency  would  become  a  law  if  there  were  nothing  to 
counteract  it.  Former  generations  have  labored,  and 
we  have  entered  into  their  labors.  They  were  as  the 
prophets  of  old,  ^'  unto  whom  it  was  revealed  that  not 
unto  themselves  they  did  minister,  but  unto  us  upon  whom 
these  ends  of  the  world  are  come."  Ours  are  all  their 
conquests  over  physical  nature,  ail  their  accumulations  of 
wealth,  all  their  machines  and  inventions  in  the  arts,  all 
their  literature  and  science,  and  all  the  political  and  social 
experience  of  the  world.  Ours  are  their  observations  on 
individual  facts  and  beings,  ours  their  arrangement  of 
those  facts  and  their  generalizations,  and  ours  those  grand 
ideas  and  methods  which  have  come  to  the  scientific  seers 
of  the  race,  not  so  much  from  what  is  called  induction,  as 
suddenly,  and  like  a  direct  revelation  from  the  suggestion 
of  a  single  fact.  And  rich  as  are  these  golden  saiids  that 
have  been  brought  down  by  the  river  of  time,  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  those  will  be  richer  yet  which 


268 

shall  be  borne  still  farther  on.  In  the  progress  of  the  race, 
not  less  than  of  the  individual,  the  great  principle  applies, 
that  to  him  that  hath,  shall  be  given.  Every  day  shows 
that  there  is  open  before  us  the  path  of  a  limitless  pro- 
gression, and  that  science  has  but  just  begun  to  be  applied 
to  the  purpose  of  subjugating  nature  to  man,  and  of  caus- 
ing the  elements  to  minister  to  his  happiyess.  No  one, 
for  example,  unacquainted  with  what  has  l3een  done  by 
the  application  of  chemistry  to  agriculture,  by  an  investi- 
gation of  the  laws  of  vegetable  life  and  of  the  nutriment 
and  stimulants  of  vegetables,  can  conceive  what  prospects 
are  opening  in  respect  to  the  cheapness  and  abundance  of 
the  products  of  the  earth,  the  multitude  of  inhabitants  it 
may  consequently  Support,  and  the  leisure  they  may  have 
for  rational  culture  and  enjoyment.  And  what  is  thus 
true  of  the  products  of  the  earth,  is  also  true  of  the  means 
of  transporting  them,  and  not  only  so,  but  of  communi- 
cating to  the  whole  race  any  invention  or  discovery,  and 
of  binding  them  together  as  one  in  the  bonds  of  interest 
and  of  sympathy. 

We  fully  admit,  then,  the  great  fact  on  which  the  pos- 
sibility of  this  law  is  based  ;  we  admit  the  tendency  to 
progress  under  certain  conditions  ;  but  how  far  this  com- 
pels us  to  admit  the  law,  will  be  best  seen  by  passing  on 
as  we  now  do  to  the  history  of  the  race — the  third  ground 
on  which  the  existence  of  such  a  law  is  asserted.  The 
advocates  of  this  law  do  not  permit  themselves  to  doubt, 
as  indeed  they  cannot  consistently,  that  every  succeeding 
generation  has,  on  the  whole,  been  wiser  and  happier  than 
the  preceding.  But  can  this  view  be  sustained  by  the 
history  of  the  past  ?  Or  does  not  this  history  rather  show 
that  while  there  is  a  tendency  to  progress  in  the  race,  yet 
that  this  tendency  can  take  etfect  and  become  a  law  only 
on  certain  conditions,  both  physical  and  moral  ? 

On  the  physical  obstacles  to  progress,  I  need  not  en- 
large, because  they  have  not  in  fact  been  the  obstacles  to 


269 

man.  It  is  obviouSj  however,  that  hfe  may  be,  and 
sometimes  has  been,  such  a  mere  struggle  for  existence, 
as  to  preckide  all  idea  or  hope  of  individual  or  general 
culture.  But  is  it  a  fact  that  tribes,  that  nations,  that  con- 
tinents, in  which  no  physical  condition  of  progress  was 
wanting,  have  always  made  such  progress  ?  How  was  it 
with  the  tribes  of  this  country,  when  they  were  discover- 
ed ?  Were  they  making  progress  ?  Or  were  they  going 
on  towards  extinction  ?  How  was  it  with  the  race,  com- 
paratively civilized,  that  preceded  them  ?  What  voice  do 
the  ruined  cities  and  other  remains  of  ancient  art  and 
civilization,  found  on  this  continent,  utter  respecting  the 
progress  of  man  ?  To  what  point  of  elevation  have  those 
many  generations  attained,  who  have  lived,  and  raised 
themselves  upon  the  shoulders  of  their  predecessors,  and 
perished,  throughout  all  the  islands  of  the  Pacific  ?  How 
has  it  been  with  Africa  ?  Has  Egypt,  once  so  mighty, 
but  now  so  long  the  basest  of  kingdoms,  made  progress  ? 
Has  Carthage  ?  Or  Numidia  ?  Or  have  the  unnumbered 
millions  in  its  central  and  southern  regions  ?  Has  Asia 
made  progress  ?  Has  there  been  any  progress  for  a  thou- 
sand years  in  India,  or  in  China  ?  Has  there  been  in  Tar- 
tary,  or  Persia,  or  Arabia,  or  Turkey  ?  Do  not  the  Chinese 
and  the  Hindoos  now  use  astronomical  tables,  of  the 
principles  of  whose  construction  they  know  nothing  ? 
So  far  have  the  principal  nations  of  Asia  been  from  mak- 
ing progress  within  the  last  thousand  years,  that  it  would 
be  hazarding  nothing  to  assert  that  they  have  deteriorated. 
Their  movement  has  spent  its  force,  their  civilization  has 
become  effete.  And  if  this  is  so,  what  becomes  of  the 
law  of  progress  of  the  race,  when  such  vast  masses  are 
not  acted  upon  by  that  law  ?  Does  not  the  law  become 
a  law  of  deterioration,  and  progress  the  exception  ?  I  do 
not  understand  by  what  right  it  is,  that  in  considering  the 
history  of  the  race,  the  larger  portion  of  it  is  accounted 
by  the  advocates  of  this  law  as  nothing. 


270 

But  tracing  the  line  of  movement  and  of  civilization 
from  its  reputed  origin,  whether  in  India  or  in  Egypt, 
first  to  Greece,  then  to  Rome,  and  then  to  modern  times, 
do  we  find  any  indications  of  a  law  of  progress  ? 

It  is  doubted  by  some  whether  we  are  really  in  advance 
of  the  ancient  civilization.  It  cannot  be  pretended  that 
we  have  greater  individual  men.  Grander  specimens  of 
man  will  probably  never  exist  than  are  to  be  found  among 
those  of  old  time.  Many  of  their  arts,  it  is  well  known, 
are  lost,  and  many  others,  at  one  time  supposed  to  be 
solely  of  modern  discovery,  are  now  known  to  have  been 
in  use  among  them  ;  and  any  one  who  will  read  atten- 
tively the  twenty-seventh  chapter  of  Ezekiel,  may  doubt 
whether  we  are  before  them  in  what  pertains  to  the 
luxuries  and  refinements  of  life. 

But  if  we  are  in  advance  of  them,  is  our  civilization  a 
continuation  of  theirs  ?  Is  the  course  of  civilization  and 
improvement  properly  represented  by  a  river  flowing  on 
and  expanding  ?  Or  may  we  not  rather  compare  what 
has  been  done,  to  the  formation  in  the  stream  of  separate 
islands  of  sand,  where  we  may  see  one  now  accumulating, 
and  enlarging,  and  giving  promise  of  permanence,  but  at 
length  undermined  and  washed  away  by  the  waters,  and 
its  materials  dispersed,  or  floated  down  till  they  reach  a 
new  point  of  aggregation  ?  The  latter  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  more  accurate  representation,  and  if  many,  and  perhaps 
the  more  valuable,  materials  have  been  saved  in  the 
general  confusion  connected  with  the  transfer  of  the  seats 
of  power  and  of  civilization,  much  also  has  been  lost. 
Indeed,  till  modern  civilization  began  to  extend  its  arms, 
and  to  give  indications  that  it  would  ultimately  embrace 
the  globe,  this  alternation  of  growth  and  decay  was  sup- 
posed to  be  the  law  of  the  race.  Thus  Peter  the  Great 
says,  in  his  will,  "  I  look  upon  the  invasion  of  the  coun- 
tries of  the  East  and  West  by  the  North,  as  periodical 
movements    determined    by  the  designs  of  Providence, 


271 

who  thus  regenerated  the  Roman  empire  by  the  invasion 
of  barbarians.  The  emigrations  of  the  polar  races  are 
Hke  the  flow  of  the  Nile,  which,  at  certain  periods,  is  sent 
to  fertihze  the  impoverished  land  of  Egypt."  This  is 
the  lesson  which  history  alone,  separated  from  the  move- 
ments and  prospects  of  modern  civilization,  teaches. 

What  then  is  this  civilization  which  thus  erects  itself 
to  the  survey  of  the  whole  earth  ?  It  is  Christian  civili- 
zation— one  whose  roots  are  watered  by  the  life-giving 
springs,  and  upon  whose  leaves  descend  the  dews,  of  the 
religion  of  Christ — a  civilization  preserved,  and  kept  from 
putrefaction,  by  that  salt  of  the  earth.  It  is  a  civilization, 
not  like  that  of  old  in  one  great  mass,  but  pervading  all 
Christian  nations,  and  every  where  manifesting  the  same 
great  characteristics.  It  springs  from  the  principle  of  indi- 
vidual growth,  manifesting  itself  in  accordance  with  the 
fundamental  fact  that  the  true  growth  and  well-being  of 
one  is  not  opposed  to  that  of  any  other,  but  must  be  coin- 
cident with  the  well-being  of  all.  So  an  impartial  God 
has  ordained  it,  and  we  might  as  well  expect  a  body  to 
rest  before  it  finds  its  centre  of  gravity,  as  to  expect  soci- 
ety to  be  at  rest  till  this  great  principle  is  recognized  and 
acted  upon.  In  connection  with  this  religion  and  with 
this  principle  there  has  been  progress,  and  no  where  else. 
In  connection  with  this,  we  can  trace  an  expanding  stream 
from  the  fountain  head  of  the  race.  We  see  it  at  first, 
winding  its  solitary  and  threadlike  way  in  the  patriarchal 
and  Jewish  dispensations,  till  at  length  it  burst  forth  from 
the  hills  of  Judea  and  became  a  mighty  river,  whose  cur- 
rent is  to-day  flowing  on  and  becoming  deeper  and  broad- 
er. The  ancient  forms  of  civilization  fell  to  pieces  by 
their  own  weight,  nor  is  there  any  evidence  that  the  frag- 
ments of  their  wreck  would  have  been  caught  and  pre- 
served, if  Christianity  had  not  come  in  with  the  influ- 
ence of  its  pure  precepts,  and  the  weight  of  its  eternal 
sanctions,  and  formed  new  points  of   aggregation.     No 


272 

instance  is  known  in  which,  without  this,  civilization  has 
rekindled  its  fires  upon  altars  where  they  have  once  gone 
out.  That  portion  of  the  race  which  is  ihe  most  hopeless, 
which  it  is  most  difficult  to  impregnate  with  nitellectual 
and  moral  vitality,  is  the  residuum  of  an  extinct  civiliza- 
tion. There  is  no  evidence  that  any  thing  except  Chris- 
tianity could  have  amalgamated  materials  so  discordant  as 
the  northern  barbarian  and  the  effeminate  Roman,  nor 
any  reason  to  suppose  that  without  it  Europe  could  have 
been  freed  from  the  curse  of  domestic  slavery,  and  of 
feudal  institutions.  Barbarians  have,  indeed,  been  said  to 
regenerate  decayed  civilization,  but  it  was  because  there 
was  at  work  an  element  mightier  than  that  of  civilization, 
amalgamating  and  fusing  masses  that  would  never  have 
become  one  by  any  other  power.  There  has  not  been 
upon  the  earth  for  the  last  thousand  years,  there  is  not 
now,  any  true  progress  except  in  connection  with  Chris- 
tianity. On  the  contrary,  all  other  systems  of  religion, 
and  all  other  types  of  civilization,  are  falling  to  decay, 
and  man  is  deteriorating  individually  and  socially  under 
their  influence.  It  is  then  for  Christendom,  if  at  all,  and 
for  the  race  only  as  it  may  be  embraced  within  the  ex- 
panding limits  of  Christendom,  that  history  indicates  a 
law  of  progress. 

While,  therefore,  in  view  of  this  brief  and  very  im- 
perfect discussion,  we  believe  that  man  was  intended  to 
be  a  progressive  being,  and  that  God  has  laid  the  founda- 
tion for  this  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  we  also  believe 
that  the  inherent  tendency  to  progress  can  become  a  law 
only  on  certain  moral  conditions,  and  that  these  conditions 
can  be  sustained  in  society  only  by  the  vital  influences  of 
the  Christian  religion.  We  believe  in  no  law  of  progress 
that  would  exclude  the  providence  of  God,  and  in  no  con- 
ditions of  progress  that  would  exclude  the  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ.  If  men  choose  voluntarily  to  adopt  the 
ends  which  God  proposes,  and  to  act  in  coincidence  with 


273 

the  laws  which  he  has  instituted,  they  will  make  a 
progress,  individual  and  social,  such  as  will  realize  the 
brightest  dreams  of  poetry  and  of  prophecy  ;  but  if  they 
pursue  any  other  course,  their  progress  can  be  only 
progress  towards  ruin. 

But  whether  it  is  in  accordance  with  a  universal  law  or 
not,  certain  it  is,  as  I  have  already  said,  that  there  are  now 
a  movement  and  a  progress  in  the  race  more  grand  and 
exciting  than  ever  before.  A  centre  of  aggregation  is 
formed.  We  believe  it  is  fast  anchored  in  the  stream  of 
time — that  it  is  indeed  an  immovable  rock  placed  there 
by  the  hand  of  God.  If  we  are  to  judge  by  laws,  or  by 
tendencies  operating  under  conditions  that  gave  them  the 
present  effect  of  laws,  we  should  be  led  to  hope  for  a 
rapid  improvement  in  the  condition  and  prospects  of  the 
race.  But  this  must  depend,  as  it  has  in  all  past  time, 
upon  the  state  of  the  moral  elements,  and  if  we  would 
know  what  is  really  to  be,  we  must  refer  to  the  prophetic, 
as  well  as  to  the  philosophic  mode  of  ascertaining  the 
future.  It  may  be  that  these  tendencies  are  to  take 
effect,  and  that  by  a  gradual  process  of  melioration,  as 
the  light  of  the  morning  comes  in,  the  light  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  glory  of  God  shall  cover  the  earth ;  or  it  may 
be  that  the  bringing  in  of  the  new  order  of  things  shall 
be  seen  to  be,  not  from  any  law,  or  human  agency,  but 
by  the  direct  interposition  of  God.  It  may  be  that  an 
atheistic  philosophy,  or  a  mingled  formalism  and  infideli- 
ity,  or  a  general  licentiousness  and  opposition  to  moral 
restraint,  shall  pervade  the  masses,  and  that  all  constitu- 
tional barriers  shall  be  swept  away  before  their  immediate 
action,  and  that  license  shall  be  enthroned  in  the  place  of 
liberty,  and  right  and  order  and  religion  shall  be  trampled 
under  foot,  and  the  fiendish  malignity  that  showed  itself 
at  the  crucifixion,  and  in  the  French  revolution,  shall  be 
again  in  the  ascendant,  and  the  church  of  God  be  to 
human  eyes  once  more  about  to  be  destroyed,  and  that 
35 


274 

then  there  shall  come  in  the  arrest  of  sudden  and  awful 
judgments,  and  the  sign  of  the  Son  of  Man  shall  appear  in 
heaven,  and  a  great  voice  shall  come  out  from  the  throne, 
saying,  "  It  is  done  ;  " — "  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  are 
become  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ,  and 
he  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever." 

Having  thus  dwelt,  too  briefly  for  the  theme,  but  I  fear 
too  long  for  the  occasion,  on  the  first  branch  of  the  sub- 
ject, I  pass  to  one  of  more  immediate  interest ;  for  how- 
ever wide  may  be  the  excursions  of  the  intellect,  I  am 
sure  we  can  all  say  on  this  day,  and  on  this  occasion,  of 
our  Alma  Mater, 

"  My  heart  untiavelled  fondly  turns  to  thee." 

To  her  we  turn,  and,  obscure  as  she  may  have  been  in 
the  eyes  of  many,  we  do  not  fear  to  ask  what  she  has 
done  to  swell  the  mighty  movement  of  the  last  fifty  years. 
This  is  the  test  by  which  the  value  of  all  our  institutions 
must  be  tried,  and  this  we  do  not  hesitate  to  apply.  What 
has  this  college  done  ?  Need  I  ask,  with  such  a  body  of 
its  Alumni  before  me, — the  venerable,  the  honored,  the 
distinguished, — men  high  in  office,  and  in  influence  ?  And 
how  many  whose  hearts  are  with  us,  are  not  here  ?  Pro- 
bably the  Alumni  of  no  college  in  the  Union  are  more 
scattered  than  ours,  composed  as  they  have  so  largely  been 
of  those  who  have  had  their  own  way  to  make  in  life.  As 
I  have  already  said,  more  than  one  thousand  young  men 
have  completed  their  course  of  study  here,  and  of  these 
more  than  one  third  either  have  been,  or  will  be  ministers 
of  tiie  gospel.  Many  of  these,  too,  would  never  have  been 
liberally  educated — I  have  no  reason  to  suppose  I  should 
myself  have  been — if  it  had  not  been  for  Williams  College. 
Embosomed  among  these  mountains,  it  has  exerted  a  sug- 
gestive power,  and  called  out  many  such  men  as  become 
most  useful  when  educated.  They  have  come  from  the 
yeomanry  of  the  country,  from  the  plough  and  the  work- 


^75 

shop,  with  clear  heads  and  firm  nerves,  and  industrious 
habits,  and  unperverted  tastes — in  need,  it  may  be,  of 
pohsh,  but  susceptible  of  the  highest.  They  have  come 
because  they  felt  high  impulses  struggling  within  ihem 
and  they  have  made  their  own  way.  Such  men  we  wel- 
come. They  become,  intellectually,  the  working  men  of 
the  land — energetic,  practical  men,  whose  influence  has 
been  and  is  extensively  felt  in  the  benevolent  operations 
of  the  day.  It  is  probably  by  bringing  forward  such  men, 
as  teachers,  as  ministers,  cis  practical  men  in  all  the  pro- 
fessions, and  diffusing  in  society  the  leaven  of  their  influ- 
ence, indispensable  in  institutions  like  ours,  that  this  col- 
lege has  done  most  good. 

But  if  our  number  had  been  smaller,  and  we  Jiad  done 
less  by  that  general  influence  that  belongs  to  all  literary 
institutions,  it  might  still  not  be  presumptuous  to  speak  of 
what  we  had  done  on  so  broad  a  field.  In  some  respects 
the  progress  of  knowledge  and  improvement,  is  like  the 
gradual  accumulation  of  a  pile  to  which  every  scholar  may 
be  expected  to  add  something — as  every  Indian  is  said  to 
have  laid  a  stone  upon  the  pile  at  the  foot  of  Monimient 
mountain — but  in  other  respects  it  is  more  like  the  j^ro- 
gress  of  fire  which  is  set  at  certain  points,  and  spreads  on 
every  side.  Luther,  and  Bacon,  and  Newton,  and  Carey, 
and  Samuel  J.  Mills,  set  fires  ;  and  he  who  does  this  to  any 
extent,  does  something  for  the  race,  even  though  that 
which  kindled  the  blaze  was  but  a  spark,  and  was  lost  in 
the  brightness  and  glow  of  the  succeeding  conflagration. 
The  brightest  history  of  an  institution  is  to  be  found  in 
what  it  has  done  in  setting  such  fires. 

And  here  I  cannot  fail  to  be  reminded  by  the  position 
in  which  I  stand,  surrounded  by  its  genial  light  and 
warmth,  of  one  such  fire.  So  far  as  I  know,  the  Society 
of  the  Alumni  of  Williams  College,  was  the  first  associ- 
ation of  the  kind  in  this  country,  certainly  the  first  which 
acted  efllciently,  and   called  forth   literary  addresses.     It 


276 

was  formed,  September  5th,   1821,  and  the  preamble  to 
the  constitution    then  adopted,   was  as  follows :     "  For 
the  promotion  of  literature  and  good  fellowship  among 
ourselves,   and  the  better  to  advance  the  reputation  and 
interests  of  our  Alma  Mater,  we  the  subscribers,  graduates 
of  Williams  College,  form  ourselves  into  a  Society."     The 
first  president  was  Dr.   Asa  Buibank.     The   first  orator 
elected  was  the  Hon.  Elijah  Hunt  Mills,  a  distinguished 
Senator  of  the  United  States.     That  appointment  was  not 
fulfilled.     The  first  oration  was  delivered  in  1823,  by  the 
Rev.   Dr.   Woodbridge,  now   of  Hadley,  and  was   well 
worthy  of  the  occasion ;  and  since  that  time  the  annual 
oration  before  the  Alumni  has  seldom  failed.     In  1832,  a 
measure  was  adopted  by  this  Society  of  great  importance 
to   the  college.     It  is  scarcely  credible   how  meagre  the 
philosophical  and  chemical  apparatus   then   was,    and  it 
was  voted  that  this  Society  would  attempt  to  raise  for  the 
benefit  of  those  departments,   the  sum  of  $4,000,  by  sub- 
scriptions of  the  Alumni,  and  other  friends  of  the  college. 
The  effect  of  this,  faithfully  applied  as  it  was  to  the  direct 
means  of  instruction,   has,  I  know,  been  felt  from   that 
time   to    this,    in  every  beating  pulse  of  the  institution. 
Since  this   Society   was  formed,  the  example  has  been 
followed  in  other  institutions,   and  bids  fair  to  extend  to 
them  all.     Last  year,   for  the  first  time,  the   voice  of  an 
Alumnus  orator  was  heard  at  Harvard  and  at  Yale  ;  and 
one  of  these  associations,  1  know,  sprang  directly  from  ours. 
It  is  but  three  years  since  a  venerable  man  attended  the 
meeting  of  our  Alumni,   one   of  those  that  have  been  so 
full  of  interest,  and  he  said  he  should  go  directly  home  and 
have  such  an  association  formed  at  the  commencement  of 
his  Alma  Mater,  then  about  to  occur.     He  did  so.     That 
association  was  formed,  and  the  last  year  the  voice  of  one 
of  the  first  scholars  and  jurists  in  the  nation  was  heard 
before  them.     The  present  year  the  Alumni  of  Dartmouth 
were   addressed  for   the    first  time,   and   the   doctrine  of 


277 

Progress  was  illustrated  by  the  distinguished  speaker  in 
more  senses  than  one.*  Who  can  tell  how  great  the  influ- 
ence of  such  associations  may  become  in  cherishing  kind 
feeling,  in  fostering  literature,  in  calling  out  talent,  in 
leading  men  to  act,  not  selfishly,  but  more  efficiently  for 
the  general  cause  through  particular  institutions  ? 

Another  important  idea  originated  here  is  that  embodied 
in  the  Horticultural  and  Landscape  Gardening  Association, 
the  results  of  which  are  seen  in  the  college  garden,  and  in 
the  garden  around  the  observatory.  With  slight  exceptions, 
the  whole  labor  bestowed  upon  these,  from  the  first,  (and 
its  amount  is  greater  than  most  would  suppose,)  has  been 
done  by  the  students.  The  object  has  not  been  profit, 
but  the  promotion  of  health  and  of  a  taste  for  the  beauti- 
ful, and  the  eifect  has  been  most  happy  upon  health  and 
cheerfulness,  and  upon  the  emotive  nature.  Perhaps  it 
does  as  much  as  can  be  done  in  remedying  that  evil  of 
college  life,  the  want  of  a  domestic  and  home  influence. 
It  shows  that  students  can  make  of  college  just  what 
they  choose — that  they  can  make  it  a  home  of  peace,  and 
connect  with  it  associations  of  beauty  and  moral  purity,  a 
place  full  of  unspeakable  interest  to  parents  and  friends, 
and  to  those  who  have  the  oversight  of  it.  W^hen  stand- 
ing in  the  midst  of  beauty  thus  created,  my  mind  has 
often  been  led  on  to  the  conception  of  a  higher  beauty 
than  that  of  flowers  and  mountains,  and  I  have  had  a 
vision  of  what  a  college  might  be.  I  do  not  know  that 
our  example  in  this  respect  has  been  followed  by  other 
colleges — in  some  it  could  not  be — but  I  know  of  several 
academies  which  are  now  surrounded  by  tasteful  grounds 
in  consequence  of  what  has  been  done  here.  I  hardly 
know  of  an  idea  with  which  the  young  people  of  this 
land  more  need  to  be  imbued,  than  that  which  lies  at  the 
basis  of  this  association. 

*  Hon.  Levi  Woodbury,  whose  subject  was  "  Progress." 


278 

Another  thing  which  I  may  properly  notice  here,  is  the 
fact  that  to  this  college  belongs  the  honor  of  having  erected 
the  first  Astronomical  Observatory  on  this  continent.  This 
was  commenced  at  a  period  of  great  apathy  on  the  subject, 
but  since  then  the  interest  has  become  extensive  and  in- 
tense. Nor  was  this  building  erected  as  a  single  isolated 
undertaking.  It  was  one  mode  of  realizing  an  idea  that 
had  been  adopted  in  regard  to  all  education  respecting 
sensible  objects,  which  is,  that  we  are  not  so  much  to  talk 
about  a  thing,  as  to  show  it.  You  may  tell  me  that  the 
stone  you  hold  in  your  hand  is  petrified  wood,  and  I  may 
believe  it ;  but  let  me  see,  by  a  microscope,  the  porous 
structure  and  the  layers  still  remaining,  and  I  have  an 
impression  that  I  could  get  in  no  other  way.  You  may 
tell  me  of  the  magnitude  and  motions  of  the  planets ; 
but  let  me  see  them  hanging  in  space,  and  passing  rapidly 
through  the  field  of  a  large  telescope,  or  let  me  turn  that 
same  telescope  upon  one  of  the  nebulce,  or  into  the  depths 
of  infinite  space,  and  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  me.  The 
idea  is,  that  the  teacher  is  to  make  nature  the  principal, 
and  as  far  as  possible,  is  to  let  her  do  her  own  teaching.  In 
pursuance  of  this  idea,  the  Magnetic  Observatory  has  been 
built,  very  efficient  Meteorological  and  Natural  History 
Associations  have  been  formed,  and  scientific  expeditions 
and  pedestrian  tours  have  been  several  times  undertaken. 
The  direct  object  was  not  so  much  the  extension  of 
science,  as  to  convey  a  more  full  and  accurate  impression 
of  the  universe  as  now  known,  and  to  promote  habits  of 
observation.  Have  the  means  and  apparatus  to  do  this 
fully,  and  your  course  loses  the  character  of  mere  book 
learning.  The  student  is  led  to  direct  communion 
with  nature,  and  with  nature's  God  ;  and  though  you  do 
not  advance  science  immediately,  yet  you  kindle  fires. 
You  incorporate  your  course  nito  the  very  being.  You 
wake  thoughts  and  feelings  ''that  shall  perish  never." 
Such  is  the  idea  which  we  have  attempted  to  realize  in 


279 

the  teaching  of  physical  science ,  which  we  have  reahzed 
as  far  as  our  means  would  permit,  and  of  which  the 
Observatory  was  but  a  single  result.  And  here  I  cannot 
omit  to  mention,  as  connected  with  our  facilities  in  this 
department,  the  donation  during  the  past  season  by  Pro- 
fessor Emmons,  of  a  complete  suit  of  the  New  York 
minerals  and  rocks,  a  gift  of  great  importance,  connected 
as  those  rocks  are  with  the  general  science,  and  one 
worthy  of  the  munificence  of  a  State. 

I  will  mention  one  idea  more,  indigenous  here,  as  it 
must  have  been  elsewhere,  which  we  have  of  late  at- 
tempted to  realize.  It  is  that  of  making  the  college 
studies  have  the  impression  and  effect  of  a  system  on  the 
mind  of  the  student.  Laying  the  power  of  expression, 
whether  by  writing  or  speaking,  out  of  the  question,  we 
divide  our  course  into  the  Languages,  Mathematics,  Phys- 
ical Science,  and  Man,  as  he  is  in  himself,  and  in  his  rela- 
tions to  his  fellow  creatures,  and  to  God.  Pursuing  Mathe- 
matics and  the  Languages  in  the  usual  way,  and  Physical 
Science  in  the  manner  just  spoken  of,  we  take  up  first  the 
physical  man,  and  endeavor  to  give,  as  by  the  aid  of  the 
admirable  preparation  of  Auzoux  we  are  able  to  do,  an 
idea  of  every  organ  and  tissue  of  the  body.  We  then 
take  the  intellectual  man,  and  investigate,  first, 'and  classi- 
fy his  several  faculties  ;  then  the  grounds  of  belief  and  the 
processes  of  the  mind  in  the  pursuit  of  truth,  with  an 
explanation  of  the  inductive  and  the  deductive  logic; 
then  the  moral  nature,  together  with  individual  and  politi- 
cal morality,  comprising  a  knowledge  of  constitutional 
history  and  of  the  rights  and  duties  of  American  citizens ; 
then  the  emotive  nature,  as  taste  and  the  principles  of  the 
fine  arts ;  then  natural  theology  and  the  analogy  of  the 
natural  to  the  moral  government  of  God.  Perhaps  other 
and  better  systems  have  been  adopted  elsewhere ;  but  I 
know  that  formerly  here,  the  studies  were  pursued  as 
separate  and  isolated,  and  there  is  reason  to  suppose  that 


280 

the  idea  of  system,  of  the  communication  of  one  grand 
organized  body  of  knowledge,  answering  in  unity  as  well 
as  in  diversity,  to  the  universe  of  God,  is  too  little  re- 
garded. 

But  the  grand  distinction  of  this  college,  in  the  aspect 
in  which  we  are  now  regarding  it,  is,  that  on  this  spot 
American  Missions  had  their  origin.  "  It  is,"  in  the 
words  of  another,  "from  the  little'  fountain  among  the 
green  hills  of  Williamstown,  that  the  noble  river  may  be 
traced  which  now  bears  upon  its  surface  the  benefactions 
of  so  many  churches  to  heathen  nations."  That  such  a 
movement  should  have  originated  with  the  undergradu- 
ates of  a  college,  at  a  time  when  thei'e  was  the  apathy  of 
death  every  where  in  the  land  on  the  subject  of  Missions, 
when  there  was  so  much  in  the  state  of  the  world  to 
excite  the  youthfLil  imagination,  and  fire  ambition,  and 
distract  the  mind,  when  Europe  was  quaking  under  the 
tread  of  the  man  of  destiny,  and  this  country  was  fear- 
fully excited  by  political  divisions,  can  only  be  accounted 
for  from  the  special  agency  of  the  Spirit  of  God.  It  was 
according  to  the  wonted  methods  of  Him  who  chooses 
the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  things  that 
are  mighty. 

The  history  of  this  transaction  is  now  known,  and 
there  is  connected  with  it  a  high  moral  sublimity.  How 
busy,  and  active,  and  loud,  and  prominent  were  many 
then,  in  connection  with  the  exciting  topics  of  the  day  ! 
What  quietness,  what  force  of  character,  what  far-reaching 
thought,  what  trust  in  God  did  it  require  to  hear  the  roar 
of  all  the  temporary  movement  as  it  was  passing  by,  and 
yet  be  unmoved  by  it,  and  seek  out  retired  places  of 
prayer,  and  of  hallowed  conversation  respecting  the  in- 
terests of  the  permanent  and  eternal  kingdom  of  God, 
and  to  devote  themselves  personally  to  the  work  of  a  mis- 
sion among  the  heathen  !  What  a  moment  was  that,  when 
Samuel  J,  Mills  led  James  Richards  and  Robert  C.  Robbins 


281 

to  a  retired  place  near  the  Hoosack,  and  there,  by  the 
side  of  a  large  haystack,  opened  to  them  his  feelings 
and  views  on  this  great  subject ;  and  when  he  found 
their  minds  as  tinder  to  the  spark,  and  their  hearts  flowed 
together,  and  they  spent  the  day  there  in  fasting  and 
prayer,  in  consultation  and  in  self-dedication  to  this  work! 
This  was  thirty-six  years  ago.  The  year  following,  in 
September,  1808,  in  the  north-west  room  of  the  lower 
story  of  the  old  east  college,  an  association  was  formed 
with  a  written  constitution,  the  objects  and  character  of 
which  are  thus  stated  in  the  original  document. 

''  The  object  of  this  Society  shall  be  to  effect  in  the 
person  of  its  'members^  a  mission  or  missions  to  the 
heathen." 

"  No  person  shall  be  admitted  who  is  under  any  engage- 
ment of  any  kind  which  shall  be  incompatible  with 
going  on  a  mission  to  the  heathen." 

*'  Each  member  shall  keep  absolutely  free  from  every 
engagement,  which,  after  his  prayerful  attention,  and  after 
consultation  with  the  brethren,  shall  be  deemed  incom- 
patible with  the  objects  of  this  Society ;  and  shall  hold 
himself  in  readiness  to  go  on  a  mission  when  and  where 
duty  may  call." 

This  constitution  was  originally  signed  by  Samuel  J, 
Mills,  and  James  Richards,  and  Ezra  Fisk,  and  Cyrus  W. 
Gray,  and  Robert  C.  Robbins,  and  Daniel  Smead,  and 
afterwards  by  Gordon  Hall,  and  others.  It  was  one  part 
of  their  plan  to  take  dismissions  from  this  college  and  go 
to  others ;  and  one  of  them,  supposed  to  be  Edward  War- 
ren, afterwards  one  of  the  first  missionai'ies  to  Ceylon, 
did  thus  go  to  Middlebury  and  kindle  the  flame  there. 
To  this  association  may  be  distinctly  traced  the  American 
Board  of  Commissioners  for  Foreign  Missions,  and  the 
American  Bible  Society,  two  of  the  noblest  institutions 
on  earth.  ''  The  honor  of  the  establishment  of  the  Board 
of  Missions,"  say  Choules  and  Smith  in  their  history, 
36 


282 

''is  to  be  devoutly  ascribed  to  Him  who  worketh  all 
things  for  the  advancement  of  his  own  glory;"  but,  ''of 
human  agency.  Mills  and  his  coadjutors  stand  in  the  first 
rank.  Mills  was  the  prime  mover,  but  much  credit," 
they  add,  "  was  also  due  to  Judson,  Hall,  Nott,  Rice, 
Richards,  Warren,  and  Newell."  Of  the  eight  individuals 
thus  designated,  it  will  be  seen  that  five  were  connected 
with  this  college. 

In  1811,  a  similar  association,  which  still  lives,  was 
formed  at  Andover,  and  of  the  eight  original  members  of 
that,  four,  Mills,  Rice,  Richards,  and  Robbins,  were  from 
this  college.  For  the  purpose  of  waking  up  the  public 
mind,  the  association  here,  published  two  sermons  at  its 
own  expense,  and  that  at  Andover  published  Home's 
Letters  on  Missions,  and  other  similar  works.  They  also 
addressed  a  communication  to  the  General  Association  of 
Massachusetts,  which  was  the  immediate  cause  of  the 
formation  of  the  Board. 

But  the  agency  of  this  college  in  the  great  work  of 
Missions  is  not  fully  stated  when  its  connection  with  the 
American  Board  only  is  spoken  of.  In  the  class  succeed- 
ing that  of  Mills,  was  Luther  Rice,  who  went  out  with 
the  very  first  missionaries,  who,  together  with  Judson, 
became  a  Baptist,  lost  his  health,  returned  to  this  coun- 
try, and  was  the  principal  agent,  going  from  one  end  of 
the  land  to  the  other,  in  waking  up  a  missionary  spirit 
in  that  church,  and  in  sustaining  those  missions  that  have 
since  been  so  successful. 

Wherever,  therefore,  the  history  of  American  Missions 
shall  be  known,  this  spot  and  this  college  must  be  looked 
to  with  interest ;  and  we  do  not  think  it  was  the  design 
of  God  that  the  moral  effect  of  the  associations  connected 
with  it,  should  be  lost.  Accordingly,  though  the  college 
seemed  at  times  afterwards  to  be  on  the  verge  of  extinc- 
tion, yet  God  interposed  and  saved  it,  and  has  since 
owned  it  in  a  signal  manner  by  pouring  out  his  Spirit 


283 

here,  and  we  think  has  given  indications  that  he  intends 
to  use  it  as  a  distinguished  means  of  carrying  forward 
that  great  work  which  was  here  commenced.  So  may  it 
be.  Here,  in  this  retreat,  may  the  seeds  of  mighty  influ- 
ences germinate,  to  be  afterwards  transplanted  and  over- 
shadow the  world.  Here,  as  gems  in  their  ocean  depths, 
may  plans  for  the  true  good  of  man  receive  their  form. 
Here  may  the  words  of  Mills,  "  Though  you  and  I  are 
very  little  bemgs,  we  must  not  rest  satisfied  until  our 
influence  is  felt  to  the  remotest  corner  of  this  ruined 
world,"  always  pervade  the  moral  atmosphere.  We  echo 
those  words.  We  would  make  them  the  motto  of  those 
who  come  here.  Here  may  the  Spirit  of  God,  who  has 
blessed  us  with  revivals  of  religion  in  all  their  rich  and 
precious  fruits,  still  continue  to  descend  ;  and  may  this 
college  stand  no  longer  than  its  interests  are  identified 
with  those  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Redeemer.  We  recog- 
nize, in  its  full  extent,  the  obligation  to  cultivate  every 
faculty  of  man ;  but  we  believe  in  no  true  culture  over 
which  the  religion  of  Christ  does  not  preside.  We  would 
cultivate  literature  and  science  to  the  fullest  extent,  but 
we  would  value  most,  and  most  cultivate,  that  mingled 
spirit  of  quietness  and  of  high  moral  enterprise,  which 
sees  indeed  the  passing  cloud,  and  understands  its  origin, 
and  the  laws  of  its  motion,  but  which  yet  fixes  its  gaze 
upon  the  star  that  lies  in  the  serene  depths  beyond. 

And  now,  as  a  half  century  has  rolled  away,  and  this 
College,  notwithstanding  its  struggles,  has  accomplished 
so  much,  we  cannot  help  anticipatmg  for  it  a  high  career 
of  usefulness  for  the  half  century  to  come.  We  cannot 
but  hope  that  those  who  shall  be  gathered  here  fifty  years 
hence,  will  find  far  higher  occasion  to  rejoice  in  what 
this  Institution  has  done  for  the  good  of  the  church  and 
of  the  world.  Why  should  it  not  be  ?  The  great  diffi- 
culty of  former  times,  a  want  of  facility  of  access,  is  now 


284 

removed.  Probably  a  greater  proximity  of  railroads 
would  not  benefit  the  college.  We  are  removed,  com- 
paratively, from  temptation.  We  are  not  only  in  a  beau- 
tiful, but  healthy  region.  I  think  it  remarkable,  and  I 
mention  it  with  gratitude,  that  since  I  have  been  at  the 
head  of  the  college,  not  a  student  has  sickened  and  died 
on  this  ground,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  single  case  of 
consumption,  there  has  been  no  instance  of  the  death  of 
any  one  connected  with  us.  We  are  indeed  still  embar- 
rassed from  the  loss  of  that  building  where  so  many  of  us 
have  roomed  and  studied.  But  ampler  accommodations 
have  risen  in  its  place.  And  here  I  will  say,  that  severe 
as  was  that  loss,  dark  as  was  that  hour,  yet  the  college 
never  gave  indications  of  a  higher  vitality  than  when 
those  ruins  were  yet  smoking.  And  when  I  saw  a  full 
and  prompt  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Trustees ;  when  I 
saw  every  student,  without  exception,  standing  by  the 
college,  often  at  great  inconvenience  ;  when  I  saw  the  spirit 
of  accommodation  among  this  people  ;  when  I  heard  an 
excellent  woman,  who  has  done  more  good  than  the 
world  knows,  tell  me  not  to  be  discouraged,  at  the  same 
time  subscribing  a  thousand  dollars  ;  I  knew  that  the 
cloud  would  pass  over.  It  will  pass  over.  To  this  place 
now  as  a  site  for  a  college,  T  know  of  but  one  objection, 
and  that  perhaps  necessarily  connected  with  the  peculiar 
retirement  and  quiet  it  enjoys.  From  its  position  in  the 
county  and  in  the  State,  it  can  have  but  little  local  sym- 
pathy, and  it  is  remote  from  the  observation  and  sympa- 
thies of  men  of  wealth,  who  often  take  a  pleasure  and  a 
pride  in  doing  something  for  our  institutions  of  learning. 
Accordingly  no  halls  have  risen  here  by  private  munifi- 
cence, no  professorships  have  been  endowed.  Hence, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Woodbridge  Little  fund, 
amounting  to  about  five  thousand  dollars,  and  two 
bequests  of  one  thousand  dollars  each,  the  whole  in- 
come of  all  which   goes  to  pay  tuition,   the  college   has 


285 

never  received  any  thing  by  legacy  or  private  gift,  except 
what  has  been  solicited  by  subscription  for  special  pur- 
poses. Hence,  we  have  often  struggled  for  years  and 
labored  under  great  disadvantages,  for  the  want  of  that 
which,  if  they  had  known  it,  I  am  sure  it  would  have 
given  hundreds  pleasure  to  supply.  Hence,  while  it  was 
found  impossible  in  a  case  of  great  emergency  and  destruc- 
tion by  fire,  to  raise  two  thousand  dollars  for  this  college 
in  a  city  justly  celebrated  for  its  liberality,  another  insti- 
tution more  favorably  situated,  found  no  difficulty  in  rais- 
ing at  the  same  time  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
to  increase  its  already  large  library  ;  and  while  only  three 
hundred  dollars  could  be  raised  from  such  sources  when 
an  observatory  was  contemplated  here,  there  is  no  diffi- 
culty in  other  quarters  of  obtaining  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars for  the  instruments  of  one.  I  do  not  say  this  in  the 
way  of  complaint.  It  is  natural  it  should  be  so,  and  we 
are  only  the  more  grateful  to  our  friends  for  the  indispen- 
sable aid  they  have  rendered.  Possibly,  as  wealth  in- 
creases, and  the  means  of  communication  are  greater, 
there  may  be  some  change  in  this  respect.  It  may  per- 
haps occur  to  some  one  of  the  many  who  wish  to  do 
something  for  the  progress  of  the  human  mind,  that  such 
things,  coming  to  those  who  need  them,  are  far  more 
highly  prized,  and  that  the  name  of  the  benefactor  that 
stands  comparatively  alone,  is  oftener  repeated,  and  more 
fondly  remembered.  But  however  this  may  be,  we  have 
no  wish  to  be  rich.  But  we  do  wish  the  means  to  keep 
pace  with  the  times,  in  cabinets,  and  books,  and  appara- 
tus, and  in  the  introduction  of  new  branches  of  study. 
These  means,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  we  hope  to  have. 
Let  the  college  have  these,  and  who  can  estimate 
the  good  it  shall  do  in  the  coming  fifty  years  ?  Who 
can  tell  the  gratulations  of  those  who  shall  gather  here 
at  the  end  of  that  time,  and  look  back  upon  its  bright 
career  ? 


286 

Brethren  Alumni,  you  have  come  up  at  the  call  of  your 
committee,  to  celebrate  this  semi-centennial  anniversary. 
You  have  come,  but  our  number  is  not  all  here.  Many 
whose  hearts  are  with  us,  are  detained  by  business,  or 
prevented  by  distance  ;  but  many,  too,  are  where  no  call 
of  ours  could  reach  them.  Some  rest  beneath  the  soil  of 
their  own  New  England ;  some  beneath  the  prairies  of  the 
far  West ;  some  are  with  Mills  in  his  ocean  bed  ;  and  some 
slumber  with  Hall,  and  Richards,  and  my  own  classmate 
and  associate  tutor,  the  beloved  Hervey,  '^  on  India's  coral 
strand." 

Along  the  earlier  years  of  our  catalogue,  the  stars  have 
gathered  thickly.  In  all,  two  hundred  and  seventeen  are 
known  to  have  terminated  their  earthly  career.  And  those 
stars  will  continue  thus  to  gather,  as,  one  by  one,  we  too 
go  down  to  the  tomb.  When  another  half  century  is  past, 
and  the  call  shall  go  forth  for  the  centennial  gathering, 
we  shall  not  hear  it.  Possibly,  indeed,  as  we  now  vene- 
rate the  age,  and  are  to  be  instructed  by  the  wisdom  of  one 
who  was  within  one  year  of  the  very  earUest  of  the  Alum- 
ni, so  those  who  shall  be  gathered  then,  may  hear  the 
voice  of  one  whose  words  shall  fall  with  weight,  as  from 
the  height  of  these  earlier  times — possibly  they  may  listen 
to  one  who  now  hears  me.  But  long  before  that  tmie,  the 
most  of  us  will  have  done  what  we  have  to  do  for  the 
weal  or  the  woe  of  man.  The  impressions  which  we 
choose  to  make  in  the  yielding  materials  of  time,  will, 
before  that,  have  been  made,  and  have  become  set  in  the 
eternal  adamant  of  the  past.  What  then  remains  to  us,  in 
this  period  of  the  birth-throes  of  coming  wonders,  but  to 
meet  our  responsibilities  as  patriots,  as  scholars,  as  Chris- 
tians, as  the  Alumni  of  an  institution  where  the  fire  of  a 
benevolence,  practically  embracing  the  world,  was  first 
kindled  in  this  country,  and  upon  whose  altars  that  fire 
has  never  gone  out.  Let  us  then  throw  ourselves  upon 
the  tide  of  this  great  movement — the  advancing  tide  of 


287 

Christian  progress,  which  we  trust  is  to  rise,  and  swell, 
and  flow  over  the  earth.  We  are  here  to-day  to  build  up 
no  merely  local  or  sectional  interest.  We  have,  indeed, 
our  personal  feelings,  we  have  associations  dear  to  us, 
connected  with  this  spot.  But  there  are  higher  considera- 
tions than  these,  and  we  would  do  nothing,  and  ask 
nothing  for  this  Institution,  except  as  it  may  be,  and 
ought  to  be,  in  its  place,  one  of  the  grand  instrumentali- 
ties through  which  we  can  labor  most  effectually  for  the 
highest  good  of  man.  As  such,  we  cherish  it.  As  such, 
we  commit  it  to  the  guardian  care  of  Him  who  has  hith- 
erto watched  over  it.  As  such,  we  hope  to  see  its  influ- 
ence expanding,  as  a  seat  of  all  liberal  culture,  but  especially 
as  connected  with  the  great  cause  of  Christian  benevolence, 
till  those  plans  and  movements  which  originated  here 
shall  be  consummated,  and  they  shall  not  teach  any 
longer  every  man  his  neighbor,  and  every  man  his  brother, 
saying.  Know  the  Lord  :  for  all  shall  know  him,  from  the 
least  to  the  greatest. 


SERMON, 


OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  REV.  EDWARD  DORR  GRIFFIN,  D.  D. 


November  26,  1837. 


For  David,  after  he  had  served  his  own  generation  by  the  will  of  God,  fell  on 
sleep,  and  was  laid  unto  his  fathers. — Acts  xiii.  36. 

David,  the  king  of  Israel,  is  perhaps  the  only  man  who 
ever  sustained  the  three-fold  character  of  the  King,  the 
Poet,  and  the  Prophet.  In  each  of  these  characters  he 
was  eminent.  As  a  king,  he  united  under  his  sway  the 
jealous  and  factious  tribes  of  Israel,  and,  by  his  victories 
over  foreign  foes,  extended  his  kingdom  to  those  limits 
which  had  been  designated  by  prophecy  as  the  borders  of 
the  promised  land.  As  a  poet,  he  was  original,  tender, 
descriptive,  beautiful,  and  often  sublime.  As  a  prophet, 
he  ''  heard  the  words  of  God,  and  saw  the  vision  of  the 
Almighty  ;  "  and  scarcely  in  Isaiah  himself  do  we  find 
clearer  delineations  of  the  sufferings  of  the  Messiah,  and 
of  the  glory  of  His  kingdom.  In  their  double  character  of 
poetry  and  prophecy,  his  writings  have  elevated  the  taste, 
quickened  the  piety,  and  strengthened  the  hope  of  all  ages. 
Next  to  the  pride  which  a  Jew  cherished  in  having 
"  Abraham  to  his  father,"  was  that  which  he  felt  in 
David  as  the  illustrious  founder  of  a  long  line  of  kings, 


289 

and  as   the   representative  in   his    kingly   office   of  the 
promised  Messiah. 

But  notwithstanding  these  grounds  for  admiration  and 
distinction,  when  an  inspired  Jew  looked  back  over  the 
space  of  a  thousand  years,  what  was  the  condensation  and 
substance  of  all  that  he  saw  in  him  that  was  worthy  of 
remembrance?  It  consisted  simply  in  this  —  that  he 
served  his  generation.  They  were  made  wiser,  better, 
happier,  through  his  instrumentality.  He  had,  it  is  true, 
striking  faults,  and  was  guilty,  especially  in  one  instance, 
of  departing  very  widely  from  the  path  of  duty  ;  but 
when  his  whole  career  is  taken  together,  it  must  be  con- 
ceded that  he  was  a  good  and  a  great  man,  and  that  he 
served  his  generation.  He  did  not  merely  benefit  his 
generation  involuntarily  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own  selfish 
schemes,  but  he  served  it, — he  devoted  himself  voluntarily 
and  of  set  purpose  to  promote  that  end. 

We  find  at  this  point,  a  striking  difference  in  the  char- 
acters of  men.  The  mass  of  men  have  evidently  had, 
and  still  have,  very  little  regard  for  the  general  con- 
sequences of  their  actions.  Prompted  by  impulse,  or 
guided  by  self-love,  each  pursues  his  inclination  or  his 
interest,  forming  his  own  plans,  and  toiling  after  his  own 
ends,  little  regardful  of  the  effect  which  his  labors  may 
have  on  the  general  course  of  human  affairs.  The  emi- 
grant who  sets  himself  down  in  the  mighty  forest,  and 
opens  over  a  little  spot  a  path  for  the  sunlight,  has  his  arm 
nerved  solely  by  the  hope  of  his  own  future  independence 
and  of  the  good  of  his  children.  One,  and  another,  and 
another,  incited  by  the  same  motives,  and  with  the  same 
circumscribed  vision,  follow  his  example,  till  the  forest 
disappears,  and  villages,  and  cities,  and  schoolhouses,  and 
churches  spring  up  on  every  side ;  and  there  are  perhaps 
thus  laid  the  foundations  of  an  empire  that  is  to  keep  alive 
liberty  and  religion  in  the  earth.  Thus  it  is  that  the 
world  goes  on,  and  that  God,  by  means  of  numberless  sepa- 
37 


290 

rate  and  free  agents  who   "mean  not  so,"   works  out  his 
grand  designs. 

In  the  pursuit  of  their  distinct  and  independent  objects, 
individual  men  hold  the  same  relation  to  the  great  pur- 
poses of  God,  which  the  separate  workmen  upon  a  com- 
plex and  magnificent  structure  do  to  the  original  design 
and  ultimate  effect  of  the  whole.  Of  the  busy  multitudes 
who  labored  upon  the  rising  walls  of  St.  Peter's  church 
at  Rome,  each  polishing  his  own  stone  or  shaping  his 
own  angle,  how  few  had  any  conception  of  the  grand 
result,  or  cared  for  any  thing  beyond  the  wages  he  was  to 
receive  at  night !  They  toiled  for  their  bread  ;  and  yet 
from  their  voluntary  toil  thus  induced,  and  directed  by  the 
controlling  genius  of  Michael  Augelo,  there  arose  a  struc- 
ture that  has  astonished  the  world.  True,  it  did  not  afiect 
the  result  whether  the  workmen  understood  the  design  or 
not  ;  but  it  does  essentially  affect  the  estimate  which  we 
make  of  them.  In  the  one  case  they  were  drudges,  and 
could  never  share  in  the  glory  and  pleasure  of  the  design  ; 
they  were  instruments,  as  the  saw  and  the  axe.  In  the 
other,  they  were  fit  companions  of  Angelo  himself,  their 
bosoms  swelled  with  the  same  impulses  and  shared  the 
same  anxieties,  and  their  humblest  labor,  no  matter  how 
insignificant,  was  dignified  and  cheered  as  connected  iu 
their  minds  with  an  idea  so  grand  and  ennobling.  They 
were  no  longer  instruments,  they  were  free  intelligences 
in  the  likeness  of  the  chief  architect,  and  co-operating 
cheerfully  with  him.  And  so  it  is  in  the  works  of  God. 
Moved  by  benevolence  and  guided  by  wisdom,  he  is  rear- 
ing a  structure  that  is  going  up  without  the  sound  of  the 
axe  or  the  hammer,  and  which  shall  stand  for  ever.  He 
whose  heart  has  once  throbbed  with  benevolence,  and  whose 
eye  has  caught  the  outlines  of  this  building,  is  thencefor- 
ward no  longer  a  slave,  nor  an  instrument ;  but  is  an  intelli- 
gent and  cheerful  co-worker  with  God,  and  shall  be  a  par- 
ticipator in  the  joy  and  the  triumph  that  shall  wake  the 


291 

echoes  of  heaven,  when  the  topstone  thereof  is  laid  with 
shouting,  and  they  cry,  "  Grace,  grace,  unto  it !  "  Thence- 
forward all  labor  connected  with  this  result  purifies  and 
elevates  the  mind.  There  is  no  act  so  humble  that  it 
cannot  be  ennobled  by  its  germination  from  this  principle 
of  action  ;  and  though  what  he  may  do,  may  seem  to  be, 
and  may  be,  but  as  the  drop  to  the  ocean,  yet  he  remem- 
bers that  the  ocean  is  made  up  of  drops  ;  the  little  he  has 
to  give,  he  gives  cheerfully  ;  an  J  it  is  accepted.  When 
the  unostentatious  widow  goes  to  deposit  her  two  mites, 
the  Saviour  is  therj  to  notice  it.  He  who  does  this, 
whether  he  does  little  or  much,  is  a  good  man  ;  he  serves 
his  generation  ;  he  co-operates  with  God,  feebly  it  may 
be,  but  intelligently  and  cheerfully,  in  the  promotion  of 
his  benevolent  purpose.  He  who  does  this  is  a  good  maa, 
and  no  other  is. 

But  I  have  said  that  David  was  not  only  a  good,  but 
also  a  great  man.  We  have  seen  what  it  is  to  be  a  good 
man  ;  let  us  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  great  one.  There  are 
those  who  suppose  that  goodness  is  an  essential  element 
of  greatness  ;  but  this  is  i.ot  in  accordance  with  the  com- 
mon usage  of  the  term,  nor  with  the  common  apprehen- 
sions of  men.  Give  to  goodness  that  intelligence  and 
power  which  we  believe  it  shall,  in  every  instaiice,  one 
day  possess,  and  it  becomes  great  ;  but  there  may  be  great 
men  who  are  not  good.  The  designs  of  Providence  re- 
spect the  great  masses  of  men  ;  and  great  men,  considered 
as  distinct  from  the  masses,  are  the  instruments  by  which 
those  designs  are  acco  nplished.  Thus,  though  the  course 
of  society  is  generally  uniform,  yet  as  it  flows  on,  it  will 
occasionally  happen  that  its  embankments  will  give  way, 
that  "the  waters  will  be  out,  and  a  new  and  troubled  scene 
will  arise."  He  who  can  then  stop  the  rush,  and  repair 
the  breaches,  and  cause  the  waters  to  flow  again  in  their 
accustomed  channel,  is  a  great  man.  Again,  it  sometimes 
occurs  that  society  outgrows  its  institutions,  and,  for  the 


292 

expansion  and  moulding  of  its  energies,  demands  new 
forms.  He  who  can  then  preside  over  the  transition  from 
tiie  old  to  the  new,  and  conduct  it  to  a  prosperous  issue, 
stands  at  the  head  of  a  new  epoch,  and  is  a  great  man. 
Again,  it  has  often  happened  that  nations  have  attained  a 
point  in  intelligence  and  civilization  beyond  that  which 
they  have  reached  in  moral  culture,  and  then  society,  like 
a  building  whose  timbers  have  decayed,  has  fallen  in  upon 
itself,  pressed  down  by  its  own  weight.  The  mass  has 
been  tending  to  corruption,  and  there  has  been  no  redeem- 
ing*principle.  This  always  has  been  the  case  with  cul- 
tivated nations  where  a  pure  Christianity  has  not  pre- 
vailed ;  it  always  must  be.  It  is  impossible  that  civil- 
ization and  the  arts  should  reach  and  maintain  a  high 
state  of  perfection,  without  a  corresponding  progress  of 
morals  and  a  stability  of  principle  adequate  to  resist  the 
multiplied  temptations  arising  from  a  dense  population, 
the  increase  of  artificial  wants,  and  the  general  diffusion 
of  knowledge.  But  when  society  has  become  thus  cor- 
rupt, then  it  seems  necessary  that  it  should  be  scourged, 
and  perhaps  thoroughly  overturned.  Then  there  has 
always  arisen  some  ambitious  conqueror,  who  has  headed 
barbarous  hordes  under  the  impulse  of  want,  or  legions 
controlled  by  some  overmastering  principle,  and  who, 
when  the  time  of  those  corrupt  nations  has  fully  come, 
has  swept  over  them  hke  the  tornado,  and  made  them  as 
the  chaff  upon  the  summer  threshing-floor.  Such  have 
been  the  Nebuchadnezzars,  the  Alexanders,  the  Alarics, 
the  Attilas,  and  the  Buonapartes  of  the  earth.  These  have 
been  as  the  storm  in  the  hand  of  God,  and  have  fulfilled 
his  purposes,  though  "  they  meant  not  so,  neither  did  their 
heart  think  so,  but  it  was  in  their  heart  to  destroy  and  cut 
off  nations  not  a  few."  So  far,  indeed,  as  they  were 
great  without  being  good,  they  were  inslruments,  not  wilh 
reference  to  their  own  ends, — which  they  pursued  in  the 
exercise  of  all  those  powers  of  free  agency  which  good 


293 

men  possess, — but  with  reference  to  the  great  purposes  of 
God,  which  they  invohintarily  accomphshed.  Still,  not- 
withstanding their  wickedness,  these  too  were  great  men. 
He,  therefore,  who  in  any  great  crisis  of  human  affairs 
stands  at  the  turning  point,  and  whether  by  restraint  or 
impulsion  controls  their  course,  or  who  in  any  way  exerts 
a  decided  and  permanent  influence  upon  large  bodies  of 
men,  whether  for  good  or  for  evil,  is  a  great  man.  The 
influence  of  the  many,  in  their  individual  capacity, 
either  to  swell  or  to  control  the  tide  of  human  afl'airs,  is 
as  that  of  the  rain-drop  upon  the  river  ;  the  influence  of 
a  great  man  can  be  distinctly  traced. 

He  then, — to  class  mankind  very  briefly  with  reference 
to  goodness  and  greatness, — who  exerts  the  ordinary  and 
comparatively  petty  influence  in  favor  of  evil  principles, 
the  common  drudge  and  low  mercenary  of  sin,  is  neither 
a  great  nor  a  good  man  ;  while  he  who  exerts  his  little 
daily  influence  in  an  intelligent  and  honest  endeavor  to 
serve  his  generation,  and  further  the  benevolent  designs 
of  God,  is  a  good,  but  not  a  great  man.  He,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  manifests  great  talent,  and  under  the  influence 
of  his  ambition  or  his  evil  passions,  scourges  or  corrupts 
the  world,  is  a  great,  but  not  a  good  man ;  while  he  who 
exerts  a  wide  influence  under  the  control  of  benevolence, 
and  in  voluntary  co-operation  with  God  in  his  beneficent 
purposes,  is  both  a  good  and  a  great  man.  The  possession 
of  such  a  character  forms  the  highest  object  of  ambition 
which  this  world  presents.  Such  a  man  was  David  ;  and 
such,  though  on  a  theatre  much  more  limited,  was  he 
who  recently  presided  over  this  Institution,  and  with 
reference  to  whose  death  we  are  now  assembled.  He 
served  his  generation,  and,  from  his  distinguished  talents, 
and  the  peculiar  positions  which  he  occupied,  his  influ- 
ence for  good  may  be  distinctly  traced.  These  assertions 
I  proceed  to  confirm  by  some  reference  to  his  history. 


294 

"  Dr.  Griffin," — to  adopt  the  language  of  an  account 
which  most  of  us  have  probably  seen, — "was  born  at 
East  Haddam,  Connecticut,  the  second  son  of  George 
Griffin,  an  independent  farmer  of  that  place,  January  6, 
1770.  He  graduated  at  Yale  College  in  1790,  at  the  age 
of  20  ;  and  received  his  theological  education  under  the 
second  President  Edwards,  at  New  Haven.  He  was  or- 
dained at  New  Hartford  in  1795  ;  and  installed  as  colleague 
of  the  Rev.  Dr.  McWhorter,  then  pastor  of  the  Second 
Presbyterian  Church  in  Newark,  in  October,  1801." 

I  have  just  intimated  that  it  is  often  the  juncture  at 
which  a  man  appears,  no  less  than  his  talents,  that  places 
him  in  such  a  point  of  view  that  the  world  will  recognize 
him  as  a  great  man ;  and  it  may  here  be  remarked,  that 
Dr.  Griffin  entered  upon  his  career  at  an  important  period 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  Of  this  he  was  himself 
accustomed  to  speak.  "  In  the  year  1792,"  he  was  often 
heard  to  say,  "  the  blood  began  to  flow  ;  in  that  year  the 
first  missionaries,  among  whom  was  Carey,  were  sent  out ; 
and  in  that  year  began  that  series  of  revivals  which  has 
not  ceased  till  the  present  time  ;  "  and  which,  it  was  his 
full  conviction,  would  not  cease  till  the  millennium  should 
be  ushered  in.  These  events  were  doubtless  the  com- 
mencement of  mighty  changes,  and  seem  to  give  to  that 
period  the  character  of  one  of  those  transition  points  which 
is  indicated  in  the  language  of  prophecy  by  the  opening 
of  the  seals,  and  the  pouring  out  of  the  vials,  and  the 
sounding  of  the  trumpets.  It  was  then,  perhaps,  that  the 
last  angel  began  to  sound,  when  "  there  were  great  voices 
in  heaven,  saying,  The  kingdoms  of  this  world  are  become 
the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ,  and  he  shall 
reign  for  ever  and  ever." 

In  sayiug  that  the  blood  then  began  to  flow,  reference 
was  made  to  the  opening  of  the  French  revolution,  and 
the  commencement  of  that  series  of  unparalleled  convul- 
sions over  Europe,  which  lasted  with  little  intermission 


295 

for  four-and-twenty  years.  These  convulsions  have  not, 
I  think,  resulted  in  any  immediate  change  of  old  organi- 
zations so  distinct  as  was  generally  auticipated  both  by 
the  political  and  by  the  religious  world.  Still  there  was 
then  wrought  a  great  revolution  in  the  opinions  and  feel- 
ings of  men,  and  those  events  constituted  a  most  impor- 
tant act,  or  perhaps  I  should  rather  say,  the  opening  scene 
in  the  last  act  of  the  great  drama  of  this  world's  history. 

To  the  missionary  movements  of  that  day,  as  the  com- 
mencement of  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  Christianity, 
it  does  not  appear  that  Dr.  Griffin  attached  too  much  im- 
portance. It  would  seem  that  the  angel  having  the  ever- 
lasting Gospel  to  preach,  then  plumed  anew  his  pinions, 
and  gathered  his  energies  for  a  higher  and  a  wider  flight 
than  ever  before.  These  movements  must  form  a  promi- 
nent characteristic  in  the  religious  history  of  the  times 
from  that  day  to  this  ;  and  so  extensive  have  they  become, 
that  no  impartial  history  of  the  world  can  be  written  in 
which  they  shall  not  find  their  place.  The  impulse  is 
still  onward,  acquiring  strength  by  progression,  and  there 
are  no  indications  that  it  will  spend  itself,  till  the  Gospel 
shall  be  preached  to  all  nations. 

The  spirit  of  religious  revivals,  so  intimately  connected 
with  that  of  missions,  then  first  awoke  after  the  time  of 
Whitfield,  and  was  most  surprising  in  its  manifestations, 
both  in  the  eastern  and  the  western  States ;  and  it  is  true 
that  there  have  been  revivals  from  that  time  till  the 
present. 

It  was  in  this  last  great  movement  of  the  day  that 
Dr.  Griffin  was  particularly  interested,  and  that  he  acted 
a  conspicuous  part.  In  1795,  as  has  been  said,  he  was 
ordained  at  New  Hartford,  Ct.,  and  a  revival  immediately 
commenced.  This  I  ascertain  from  a  letter  published  by 
him  in  the  Connecticut  Evangelical  Magazine,  dated 
August,  1800.  This  letter  was  written  to  give  an  account 
of  a  revival,  which  commenced  in  October,  1798  ]  but  in 


296 


the  commencement  of  it  he  says,  ^'  The  work  of  divine 
grace  among  us  three  years  ago,"  which  was  of  course  in 
'95,  "  by  which  nearly  fifty  persons  were  hopefully  added 
to  the  Lord,  had  not  wholly  ceased  to  produce  effects  on 
the  people  generally,  when  the  late  scene  of  mercy  and 
wonder  commenced."  Of  this  revival  in  1795,  I  find  no 
other  notice  ;  but  of  the  succeeding  one  in  1798  and  1799, 
he  goes  on  to  give  some  particulars.  And  here  I  shall 
introduce  an  extract  from  his  account,  which  will  be 
interesting,  both  as  showing  how  revivals  in  those  days 
commenced,  and  as  recalling  expressions  which  will  be 
familiar  to  some  who  hear  me.  "  Late  in  October,  1798," 
says  the  account,  "  the  people  frequently  hearing  of  the 
display  of  divine  grace  in  West  Simsbury,  were  increas- 
ingly impressed  with  the  information.  Our  conferences 
soon  became  more  crowded  and  evinced  deeper  feeling. 
Serious  people  began  to  break  their  minds  to  each  other ; 
and  it  was  discovered  that  there  had  been,  for  a  considera- 
ble time,  in  their  minds,  special  desires  for  the  revival  of 
religion  ;  while  each  one,  unapprised  of  his  neighbor's 
feelings,  had  supposed  his  exercises  peculiar  to  himself. 
It  was  soon  agreed  to  institute  a  secret  meeting,  for  the 
express  purpose  of  praying  for  the  effusions  of  the  Spirit; 
which  was  the  scene  of  such  wrestlings  as  are  not,  it  is 
apprehended,  commonly  experienced.  Several  circum- 
stances conspired  to  increase  our  anxiety.  The  glorious 
work  had  already  begun  in  Torringford,  and  the  cloud 
appeared  to  be  going  all  around  us.  It  seemed  as  though 
Providence,  by  avoiding  us,  designed  to  bring  to  remem- 
brance our  past  abuses  of  his  grace.  Besides,  having 
been  so  recently  visited  with  distinguishing  favors,  we 
dared  not  allow  ourselves  to  expect  a  repetition  of  them 
so  soon ;  and  we  began  to  apprehend  that  it  was  the 
purpose  of  Him  whom  we  had  lately  grieved  from  among 
us,  that  we  should,  for  penalty,  stand  alone,  parched  up 
in  the  sight  of  surrounding  showers. — This  was  the  state 


297 

of  the  people,  when,  on  a  Sabbath  in  the  month  of 
November,  it  was  the  sovereign  pleasure  of  a  most  merci- 
ful God  very  sensibly  to  manifest  himself  in  the  public 
assembly.  Many  abiding  impressions  were  made  on 
minds  seemingly  the  least  susceptible,  and  on  several 
grown  old  in  unbelief  From  that  memorable  day,  the 
flame  which  had  been  kindling  in  secret,  broke  out.  By 
desire  of  the  people,  religious  conferences  were  set  up  in 
different  parts  of  the  town,  which  continued  to  be  attended 
by  deeply  affected  crowds ;  and  in  which  the  divine  pres'- 
ence  and  power  were  manifested  to  a  degree  we  had  never 
before  witnessed."  Near  the  close  of  the  letter,  he  says, 
"  It  is  believed  that  the  outlines  of  this  narrative  equally 
describe  the  features  and  fruits  of  this  extensive  (and  may 
we  not  add  genuine  and  remarkably  pure)  work,  in  at 
least  fifty  or  sixty  adjacent  congregations."  Of  the  num- 
bers added  to  the  church  in  this  revival,  nothing  is  said ; 
it  is  remarked,  however,  that  it  was  hoped  that  about 
fifty  heads  of  families  were  subjects  of  the  work,  and  if 
the  proportion  of  other  persons  was  as  great  as  is  usual, 
it  must  have  been  very  extensive.  In  1801,  Dr.  Griffin 
left  New  Hartford  for  Newark,  so  that  he  must  have  been, 
during  almost  the  whole  time  he  was  there,  in  a  revival 
of  religion. 

At  Newark,  Dr.  Griffin  was,  as  has  been  said,  installed 
as  the  colleague  of  Dr.  McWhorter  in  October,  1801.  In 
the  works  to  which  I  have  access,  I  find  no  further  men- 
tion of  him  till  1808.  In  a  Panoplist  of  that  year  is  a 
letter  from  him  to  Dr.  Green,  giving  an  account  of  a 
revival  at  Newark,  still  more  remarkable  than  that  at  New 
Hartford.  In  July,  1807,  Dr.  McWhorter  died,  and 
Dr.  Griffin  took  the  whole  charge  of  the  congregation. 
In  the  following  September,  the  revival  commenced. 
This  revival  began  in  much  the  same  manner  as  the 
former.  The  letter  states,  that  silent  and  unsuspected 
preparation  for  it,  in  the  providence  of  God,  could  be 
38 


298 

traced  for  near  eighteen  months  previous.  The  death  of 
Dr.  McWhorter  made  a  powerful  impression  ;  the  serious- 
ness became  more  deep,  till  at  length,  "at  a  lecture 
preached  at  a  private  house,  it  was  no  longer  doubtful 
whether  a  work  of  divine  grace  had  begun."  ''  During 
that  and  the  following  week,"  says  the  account,  "in- 
creasing symptoms  of  a  most  powerful  influence  were 
discovered.  The  appearance  was  as  if  a  collection  of 
waters,  long  suspended  over  the  town,  had  fallen  at  once 
and  deluged  the  whole  place.  For  several  weeks  the 
people  would  stay  at  the  close  of  every  evening  service, 
to  hear  some  new  exhortation,  and  it  seemed  impossible 
to  persuade  them  to  depart,  until  those  on  whose  lips  they 
hung  had  retired." 

"  I  never  before,"  he  observes  further  on,  "  witnessed 
the  communication  of  a  spirit  of  prayer  so  earnest  and  so 
general,  nor  observed  such  evident  and  remarkable  answers 
to  prayer."  And  again,  "This  work  in  point  of  power 
and  stillness,  exceeds  all  that  I  have  ever  seen.  While  it 
bears  down  every  thing  with  irresistible  force,  and  seems 
almost  to  dispense  with  human  instrumentality,  it  moves 
with  so  much  silence,  that  unless  we  attentively  observe 
its  effects,  we  are  tempted  at  times  to  doubt  whether  any 
thing  uncommon  is  taking  place.  The  converts  are 
strongly  marked  with  humility  and  self-distrust.  Instead 
of  being  elated  with  confident  hopes,  they  are  inclined  to 
tremble.  Many  of  them  possess  deep  and  discriminating 
views,  and  all,  or  almost  all,  are  born  into  the  distinguish- 
ing doctrines  of  grace."  "I  suppose,"  he  continues, 
"  there  are  from  two  hundred  and  thirty  to  two  hundred 
and  fifty  who  hope  that  they  have  become  the  subjects  of 
divine  grace,  and  many  remain  still  under  solemn  impres- 
sions, whose  number  I  hope  is  almost  daily  increasing. 
We  have  had  but  one  sacrament  since  the  work  com- 
menced, at  which  time  we  received  ninety-seven  new 
members  who  had  been  propounded  a  fortnight  before." 


299 

Such  was  this  wonderful  work,  and  no  doubt  it  continued 
till  he  left  Newark. 

In  the  early  part  of  1809,  he  accepted  a  call  to  the  pro- 
fessorship of  Pulpit  Eloquence  in  the  Theological  Semi- 
nary at  Andover,  and  was  inaugurated  in  June  of  that 
year.  His  inaugural  discourse  was  published,  and  spoken 
of  in  terms  of  much  commendation.  Dr.  Griffin  had 
already  acquired  reputation,  and  now  entering  upon  a 
prominent  station,  in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  and 
under  the  influence  of  a  recent  extraordinary  revival  of 
religion,  he  seems  to  have  made  at  once  a  strong  and 
favorable  impression  in  the  eastern  part  of  this  State. 
That  he  was  an  able  and  a  successful  teacher  in  his 
department,  there  can  be  no  doubt  ;  and  what  he  taught 
by  precept,  he  illustrated  by  example  ;  for  he  soon  ac- 
quired the  reputation  of  being,  if  not  the  most  eloquent, 
yet  certainly  among  the  most  eloquent  men  in  New 
England.  I  have  understood  that  the  classes  under  his 
instruction  had  for  him  a  strong  personal  attachment. 

At  Andover,  however.  Dr.  Griffin  remained  but  a  short 
time,  having  been  called  in  1811,  to  occupy  what  was 
then  a  more  conspicuous  and  important  station.  The 
position  which  he  occupied  in  Park  Street  Church,  Boston, 
was  peculiar ;  and,  to  present  it  fully,  it  would  be  necessa- 
ry to  go  more  at  large  into  the  history  of  that  period  than 
time  will  now  permit.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  there  had 
been  recently  manifested,  and  after  a  painful  period 
of  hesitation,  had  been  publicly  avowed,  an  alarming  de- 
fection from  the  faith  and  practice  of  the  New  England 
Fathers.  In  this  defection  the  wealth  and  fashion  of 
Boston,  and  the  learning  of  Cambridge,  were  involved. 
It  was  suddenly  discovered  that  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  had 
been  amazingly  bigoted  and  prejudiced  and  narrow-mind- 
ed ;  and  their  sons  were  proud  of  having  descended  from 
them,  only  as  a  rich  man  will  sometimes  boast  that  his 
father  was  poor,  the  better  to  show  what  he  has  done  for 


300 

himself.  It  was  understood  that  an  age  of  light  had  com- 
menced, and  this  light  was  so  very  plain,  and  so  very 
obvious,  that  no  sensible  man,  much  less  any  man  of 
literature  and  refinement,  could  help  seeing  it.  The  old 
foundations  seemed  to  be  giving  way,  and  only  a  single 
orthodox  Congregational  church,  the  Old  South,  remained 
firm.  In  this  state  of  things,  a  few  individuals,  after 
much  prayerful  deliberation,  determined  to  erect,  in  a 
conspicuous  place,  a  large  church,  and  procure  an  able  and 
popular  man,  who  should  there  defend,  in  that  day  of  re- 
buke, the  evangelical  doctrines  thus  despised  and  ridiculed  ; 
and  who  should  rekindle  that  flame  of  experimental  piety, 
which,  for  want  of  its  appropriate  nutriment,  had  already 
begun  to  wane  and  flicker  to  its  final  extinction  in  the 
socket  of  rationalism.  After  many  sacrifices,  the  house 
was  finished,  and  was  dedicated  in  January,  1810.  The 
dedication  sermon  was  preached,  and  the  dedicatory 
prayer  off'ered,  by  Dr.  Griffin.  This  sermon  was  pub- 
lished. In  July,  1811,  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  dedica- 
tion, Dr.  Griffin  was  installed  as  pastor  of  that  church,  and 
entered  upon  a  course  of  labors,  the  moral  eff'ect  of  which 
upon  the  community  was  great  and  lasting.  It  was  here, 
probably,  that  his  most  powerful  eff'orts  were  made.  He 
felt  that  he  was  standing  in  the  breach  ;  a  large  portion  of 
the  religious  community  at  a  distance,  felt  so  too,  and  he 
had  their  sympathy,  while  he  wielded  the  force  of  a  giant. 
Many  who  hated  his  doctrines,  were  drawn  in  by  his 
eloquence,  and  it  not  unfrequently  happened,  that  those 
who  "  went  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray."  As  he  was  the 
only  orthodox  Congregational  clergyman  in  the  city 
except  one,  his  church  was  much  resorted  to  by  members 
of  the  legislature,  and  by  strangers,  and  he  thus  became 
extensively  known  throughout  this  State,  and  indeed 
throughout  the  country.  It  was  not  uncommon  for  per- 
sons who  dropped  in  casually,  to  have  their  attention 
riveted,  and  to  have  impressions  made   upon  their  minds. 


301 

which  did  not  leave  them  till  they  found  peace  in  believ- 
ing. Many  striking  instances  of  this  kind  are  related. 
I  met,  when  recently  at  Andover,  with  a  man  who  said 
he  never  heard  him  but  once,  but  that  he  remembered  the 
sermon  as  distinctly  as  if  he  had  heard  it  but  yesterday. 
It  was  here  that  he  preached  his  celebrated  Park  Street 
Lectures,  which  produced  a  powerful  etfect  at  the  time, 
which  were  afterwards  received  with  so  much  favor  by 
the  community,  and  which  will  remain  as  a  standard  the- 
ological work.  These  Lectures  gained  him  reputation  in 
Europe.  By  these  efforts  a  decided  effect  was  produced. 
The  tide  began  to  turn  ;  men  again  began  to  ask  for  "the 
old  paths ; "  and  from  that  day  to  this,  the  cause  of  truth 
has  been  gaining  ground  in  Boston  ;  so  that  there  are  now 
in  that  city  nearly  as  many  Congregational  churches  that 
are  orthodox,  as  there  are  that  are  not ;  and  other  ortho- 
dox denominations  have  greatly  increased.  I  have  been 
surprised,  when  at  Boston,  at  the  warm  affection  with 
which,  after  so  long  a  time,  many  persons  there  still  speak 
of  Dr.  Griffin.  They  all  say  that  the  battle  in  Boston 
was  fought  by  him.  He  was  their  first  pastor  ;  he  carried 
them  successfully  through  their  struggles,  and  they  can 
never  forget  him. 

It  was  while  Dr.  Griffin  was  at  Park  Street,  in  1812, 
that  he  assisted  at  Salem  in  ordaining,  and  laid  his  hands 
upon  the  first  five  missionaries  from  this  country.  These 
were  Messrs.  Newell,  Judson,  Nott,  Hall,  and  Rice  ;  of 
whom  Messrs.  Hall  and  Rice  were  graduates  of  this  Col- 
lege. 

Of  the  causes  which  induced  Dr.  Griffin  to  leave  Boston, 
I  have  no  knowledge.  I  only  know  that  in  June,  1815, 
he  returned  to  Newark,  "  at  the  invitation  of  the  Second 
Presbyterian  Church,  which  had  been  but  recently  formed 
out  of  the  congregation  in  which  he  had  before  presided." 
After  his  return  to  Newark  at  this  time,  he  remained  there 
a  little  more  than  seven  years.      I   have    no  access  to 


302 

sources  of  information  that  will  enable  me  to  state  much 
that  is  of  interest  respecting  him  during  this  period.  It 
was  during  this  time,  however,  that  he  completed  and 
published  his  book  on  the  Atonement ;  a  work  of  much 
labor  and  research.  He  was,  also,  during  this  period,  as 
he  had  been  indeed  during  the  former,  much  engaged  in 
originating  and  promoting  the  various  benevolent  societies, 
which  have  since  had  so  much  influence  upon  the  world. 
Of  his  agency  in  forming  and  promoting  these  societies 
some  account  should  be  given,  and  as  that  agency  was 
more  distinguished  during  this  and  the  preceding  period 
than  at  any  other  time,  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  notice 
it  here.  There  seems,  so  far  as  I  have  information,  little 
reason  to  doubt,  that  with  the  exception  of  Samuel  J.  Mills, 
he  had  more  to  do  with  bringing  those  societies  forward 
than  any  other  man.  Mills  was  a  native  of  Torringford, 
and  had  been  known  to  Dr.  Griffin  from  a  child.  It  was 
in  the  great  revival  of  '98  and  '99,  already  noticed,  that 
he  was  converted  ;  and  he,  doubtless,  during  that  time, 
often  heard  Dr.  Griffin  preach.  He  would  of  course,  after 
coming  into  the  ministry,  more  naturally  and  freely  lay 
open  his  plans  to  him  than  to  any  other  man,  especially 
as  he  could  find  no  person  more  suitable  to  bring  them 
before  the  public.  Accordingly,  Dr.  Griffin  says  in  his 
sermon  at  the  dedication  of  this  building,  "  I  have  been 
in  situations  to  know^  that  from  the  counsels  formed  in 
that  sacred  conclave,"  alluding  to  a  society  formed  by 
Mills  and  others  in  this  College,  "  or  from  the  mind  of 
Mills  himself,  arose  the  American  Board  of  Commissioners 
for  Foreign  Missions,  the  American  Bible  Society,  the 
United  Foreign  Missionary  Society,  and  the  African 
School  under  the  care  of  the  Synod  of  New  York  and 
New  Jersey  ;  besides  all  the  impetus  given  to  domestic 
missions,  to  the  Colonization  Society,  and  to  the  general 
cause  of  benevolence  in  both  hemispheres.  If  I  had  any 
instrumentality  in  originating  any  of  these  measures,  I 


303 

here  publicly  declare,  that  in  every  instance  I  received 
the  first  impulse  from  Samuel  J.  Mills."  It  is  then  added 
in  a  note,  "  It  was  at  the  request  of  Mills  and  his  asso- 
ciates, that  I  carried  the  proposition  for  an  American  Bible 
Society  to  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  in  the  spring  of  1814.  On  my  return  to  Bur- 
lington, I  first  proposed  the  subject  to  Dr.  Boudinot,  the 
great  instrument  by  which  the  society  was  formed.  Mills 
went  from  my  house  to  lay  the  project  of  a  missionary 
society  before  the  General  Assembly,  at  the  time  the  United 
Foreign  Missionary  Society  was  formed.  And  the  letters 
of  his  correspondents,  addressed  to  me,  by  an  understand- 
ing between  us,  were  the  engines  that  swayed  the  Synod 
to  the  establishment  of  the  African  School."  Standing 
in  such  a  relation  to  Mills,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  though 
these  projects  may  have  originated  with  him,  yet  the 
agency  of  Dr.  Griffin  in  shaping  them,  and  especially  in 
commending  them  to  public  favor,  must  have  been  all- 
important.  His  eloquent  voice  was  never  withheld  when 
the  cause  of  these  societies  was  to  be  plead  ;  and  with  the 
exception,  as  I  have  already  said,  of  Mills,  probably  the 
cause  of  benevolence  is  as  largely  indebted  to  him,  through 
these  societies,  as  to  any  other  man. 

We  now  come  to  that  period  in  the  history  of  Dr. 
Griffin,  when  he  became  connected  with  this  College. 
This  was  in  1821.  At  the  commencement  in  that  year, 
Dr.  Moore  presided  for  the  last  time.  It  had  for  some  time 
been  the  opinion  of  the  majority  of  the  trustees,  that  if 
there  was  to  be  but  one  college,  and  it  was  supposed  there 
could  be  but  one,  in  the  western  part  of  this  State, 
Northampton  would  be  a  more  favorable  location,  and 
Dr.  Moore  had  accepted  the  presidency  with  the  expecta- 
tion that  the  College  would  be  removed.  A  majority  of 
the  trustees  had  voted  that  it  was  expedient  to  remove  it, 
and  had  petitioned  the  legislature  for  permission  to  do  so. 
This  petition  had  been  met  by  a  spirited  opposition  on 


304 

the  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  and  of  the  county  ; 
and  upon  their  own  responsibility,  they  raised  a  subscrip- 
tion of  seventeen  thousand  dollars,  which  was  laid  before 
a  committee  of  the  legislature,  and  which  was  to  be  paid 
to  the  College  in  case  it  should  not  be  removed.  This 
subscription,  raised  against  the  wishes  of  a  majority  of 
the  trustees,  but  which  they  could  not  refuse  without  a 
fraud  upon  the  legislature,  some  persons  afterwards  re- 
fused to  pay,  and  it  was  made  the  ground  of  much  mis- 
representation respecting  the  College.  In  consequence, 
however,  of  this  subscription,  and  of  the  representations 
made  from  this  part  of  the  State,  the  legislature  refused 
to  the  trustees  permission  to  remove  the  College.  In  the 
mean  time,  strong  expectations  had  been  excited  in  Hamp- 
shire county,  that  there  would  be  a  college  there.  The 
people  of  Amherst,  acting  in  concert  with  some  of  the 
trustees  of  this  College  residing  in  that  region,  raised 
large  subscriptions  and  erected  buildings  for  the  reception 
of  students,  with  the  expectation  of  obtaining  a  charter. 
Having  therefore  accommodations  prepared  in  a  region 
upon  which  his  eye  had  been  fixed,  Dr.  Moore  was  about 
to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  an  institution  there,  and 
to  take  a  considerable  number  of  the  students  with  him. 
The  trustees  had  already  elected  one  or  two  persons  as 
president,  who  had  declined,  when  Dr.  Griffin  was  fixed 
upon,  and  one  of  their  number  went  to  Newark  to  lay 
the  subject  before  him.  He  had  been  interested  in  the 
College  from  its  connection  with  missionary  operations ; 
and  coming  on  immediately  to  meet  the  trustees,  he  arrived 
here  on  the  commencement-day  at  noon,  and  took  his  seat 
upon  the  stage.  His  appearance  at  that  time  revived  the 
hopes  of  the  friends  of  the  College ;  and  it  was  soon 
understood  that  he  would  accept  the  appointment.  He 
had  precisely  the  kind  of  reputation  which  was  needed 
for  the  College  at  such  a  crisis ;  a  comparatively  large 
class  entered,  and  the  College  continued  to  increase  in 


305 

numbers  and  to  prosper  till  1825.  In  February  of  that 
year,  Amherst  obtained  a  charter,  and  as  it  had  been  often 
urged  against  granting  jt  that  two  colleges  could  not  be 
sustained  in  the  western  part  of  this  State,  it  was  sup- 
posed by  many  that  it  would  be  a  deatk  blow  to  this. 
This  impression  caused  a  number  of  the  students  to  take 
dismissions,  while  a  very  small  class  entered  at  the  en- 
suing commencement.  It  was  now  seen,  that  '^to  extract 
the  seeds  of  consumption  which  had  lurked  in  the  College 
for  eleven  years,  something  must  be  done  to  convince  the 
public  that  it  would  live  and  flourish  on' this  ground." 

The  trustees  accordingly  resolved  to  attempt  to  raise 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars  for  the  purpose  of  establishing 
a  new  professorship  and  building  a  chapel.  In  obtaining 
this  sum,  Dr.  Griffin  was  the  principal  agent ;  and,  strength- 
ened by  an  extraordinary  revival  of  religion  with  which 
God  in  his  mercy  then  favored  the  College,  he  accom- 
plished what  probably  no  other  man  could  have  done.  In 
a  time  of  general  embarrassment,  he  raised  twelve  thou- 
sand dollars  in  four  weeks.  The  fund  was  completed ;  a 
professorship  of  rhetoric  and  moral  philosophy  was  en- 
dowed ;  this  building  was  erected,  and  September  2d, 
1828,  standing  w^here  I  now  stand,  he  dedicated  it  ''  to 
the  honor  and  glory  of  the  ever  blessed  Trinity — Father, 
Son,  and  Holy  Ghost."  From  that  time  it  has  been  felt 
that  the  College  is  permanent ;  and  it  has  been  going  on 
side  by  side  with  sister  institutions,  doing  its  part  in  car- 
rying on  the  great  business  of  education  in  this  country. 
In  estimating  this  eflbrt  of  Dr.  Griffin,  it  should  be 
remembered  that  it  was  the  first  of  the  kind,  and  probably 
led  to  the  more  extended  and  the  successful  efforts  of 
other  institutions  in  the  same  way. 

Dr.  Griffin  continued  to  preside  over  the   institution 

with  distinguished  ability  and  success,  till  the  spring  of 

1833,  at   which  time  he  had  a  slight   paralytic   stroke, 

which  affected  his  left  side.     The  succeeding  year  he  had 

39 


306 

some  dropsical  affection ;  and  from  that  time  it  was  evi- 
dent that  the  infirmities  of  age  and  of  disease  were 
gathering  upon  him.  He  continued,  however,  to  exert 
himself  for  the  College  till  the  fall  of  1836,  when,  in 
consequence  of  his  increasing  infirmities,  he  was  led  to 
resign. 

During  his  connection  with  the  College  there  were 
several  powerful  revivals  of  religion,  especially  that  in 
1825,  which  for  a  long  time  changed  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  College,  and  by  which  the  hopes  and  destinies  of 
many  have  been  effected.  Through  these,  and  the  minis- 
ters raised  up  in  consequence  of  them,  Dr.  Griffin,  though 
dead,  may  be  said  still  to  live,  and  to  speak  in  the 
churches,  and  even  to  lift  up  his  voice  on  heathen  shores. 
He  also  took  an  active  part  in  several  revivals  in  the 
town. 

In  this  brief  sketch  of  the  public  life  of  Dr.  Griffin, 
which  may  be  said  to  have  closed  when  he  resigned  the 
presidency  of  the  College,  I  trust  I  have  said  enough  to 
illustrate  and  confirm  the  position,  that  he  was  a  good  and 
a  great  man,  and  that  he  served  his  generation.  Probably 
the  labors  of  no  preacher  in  his  day  were  blessed  to  the 
conversion  of  more  persons  than  were  his ;  few,  if  any, 
did  more  to  originate  and  give  impulse  to  those  benevolent 
movements  which  characterize  the  age ;  in  a  period  of 
apparent  peril  to  the  church,  he  occupied  for  a  number  of 
years  a  post  of  peculiar  difficulty  on  the  walls  of  Zion  ; 
and  by  his  writings  he  was  an  able  defender  of  the  truth. 
In  his  later  years,  when  he  had  become  extensively  known 
to  the  benevolent,  the  influential  and  the  wealthy,  and, 
from  his  services  in  the  church,  held  the  key  to  their 
hearts,  he  devoted  his  energies  to  the  building  up  of  an 
institution,  whose  existence  was  then  in  peril,  but  which, 
through  his  exertions  and  those  of  other  generous  and 
indefatigable  friends,  we  trust  and  believe  will   stand  to 


307 

raise  up  other  Millses,  and  Halls,  and  Rices,  and  Rich- 
ardses,  and  Harveys,  till  it  shall  not  be  needful  for  one  to 
say  to  another,  "  Know  the  Lord." 

In  discussing  the  claims  of  any  one  to  be  considered 
great  or  good,  it  might  be  expected  that  some  delineation 
would  be  given  of  the  lights  and  shades  of  his  more  pri- 
vate and  individual  character  ;  especially  if  he  were  one 
of  those,  who,  while  they  excite  warm  feelings  of  attach- 
ment in  some,  excite  in  others  a  decided  dislike.  This, 
however,  the  limits  of  the  present  occasion  will  not  per- 
mit. The  friends  of  Dr.  Griffin  would  be  the  last  to  deny 
that  in  connection  with  his  peculiar  excellencies,  he  had 
a  share  of  those  faults  which  are  incident  to  a  tempera- 
ment like  his.  The  gold  was  mixed  with  alloy,  but  there 
was  still  much  gold  ;  and  those,  if  any  there  are,  who 
would  wish  to  hear  his  faults  dwelt  upon,  must  seek  it 
from  other  occasions  than  this,  and  from  other  voices  than 
mine.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  before  his  death, 
He  who  sits  as  a  refiner  to  his  people,  purified  him  as 
silver,  and  tried  him  as  gold  is  tried. 

It  now  only  remains  to  speak  of  the  closing  scene.  It 
is  said  in  the  text,  that  David,  after  he  had  served  his 
generation,  fell  on  sleep.  This  is  a  consoling  figure  often 
used  by  the  Jews,  used  by  our  Saviour  to  denote  death  ,• 
and  it  suggests  to  the  mind  both  a  gentle  manner  of 
departure  and  the  hope  of  a  happy  resurrection.  In  both 
these  respects  it  may  be  appropriately  applied  to  the  death 
of  Dr.  Griffin.  His  was  not  a  sudden  or  an  unexpected 
departure.  In  1833,  as  has  been  said,  he  evidently  began 
to  fail.  His  moorings  to  the  shores  of  time  then  began 
to  be  loosed,  and  the  resistless  tide  to  rise  that  was  to 
bear  him  away.  For  a  time  he  struggled  against  it,  and 
his  eyes  and  his  wishes  were  towards  these  shores ;  but 
as  cord  after  cord  was  sundered,  and  he  perceived  that  the 
earth  was  receding,  he  turned  his  face  towards  the  ocean. 


308 

and  he  passed  not  from  the  view  of  those  who  were 
watching  him,  till  they  heard  him  say  that  his  eye  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  green  fields  and  the  glittering 
spires  of  that  happy  land  to  which  he  was  bound.  It 
appears  from  an  extract  from  his  diary,  entered  just  before 
leaving  here,  that  he  felt  it  was  time  to  relinquish  his 
earthly  cares,  and  that  he  set  himself  to  prepare  to  die. 

By  a  singular  providence,  he  returned  to  Newark  a 
second  time,  there,  in  the  family  of  his  son-in-law,  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  people  who  remembered  him  with  affec- 
tion and  reverence,  to  close  his  days.  It  was  well  said 
by  a  clergyman  of  that  place  in  reference  to  his  death, 
that  "  it  was  fitting  that  he  who  came  in  his  youth  to 
teach  us  how  to  live,  should  come  when  his  head  was 
gray  to  show  us  how  to  die.  It  was  fitting  that  he  should 
lie  side  by  side  till  the  resurrection,  with  those  to  whom 
he  had  so  often  preached  the  resurrection  and  the  life." 
For  the  larger  part  of  the  year  while  there,  he  was  able 
to  take  his  accustomed  exercise,  and  to  preach  some  ;  but 
after  the  death  of  Mrs.  Griffin,  in  August,  he  began  evi- 
dently to  decline.  He  was,  however,  able  to  attend  that 
most  interesting  meeting  of  the  American  Board  at  Newark 
in  September,  and  there,  on  the  fifteenth  of  that  month, 
before  that  Board  whose  first  missionaries  he  had  assisted 
to  ordain,  he  was  permitted  to  make  his  last  public  address 
and  prayer.  "On  the  week  succeeding  the  meeting  of 
the  Board," — I  now  quote  from  an  account  furnished  by 
his  daughter,  Mrs.  Smith,  to  his  friends  here, — "  his 
difficulty  of  breathing,  indicating  dropsy  in  the  chest, 
returned.  A  general  dropsical  effusion  soon  followed. 
After  Thursday  night  of  that  week,  he  never  attempted 
to  lie  down  ;  he  at  once  resigned  the  expectation  of  ever 
being  any  better,  and  said  to  me  that  night,  '  I  never 
expect  to  lie  down  again,  till  I  lie  by  your  mother's  side.'  " 
— "  To  the  numerous  friends  who,"  when  his  situation 
was  miderstood,  "  flocked  to  the  'privileged  chamber,'  he 


309 

would  say,  (while  his  breathing  was  such  as  to  draw  tears 
from  every  eye  but  his  own,)  '  I  want  to  tell  you,  for  the 
honor  of  God,  and  for  your  own  comfort,  (for  you  have 
yet  to  die,)  of  his  most  merciful  and  faithful  provision  for 
a  poor  wretched  sinner,  so  needful  for  an  old  man  going 
down  into  the  grave  after  his  beloved  wife.  Not  one 
anxious  tJLOugkt  is  left  me  from  day  to  day  about  the  event 
or  the  manner.  I  am  taken  up  in  thanking  the  blessed 
God  for  his  wonderful  mercy  and  faithfulness  in  thus 
dealing  with  me.  That  he  should  select  this  time  to  do 
for  me,  what  he  never  did  before,  to  remove  every  con- 
cern, and  to  fill  me  with  peace — to  make  that  most  solemn 
event,  and  all  its  dreaded  means,  no  longer  dreadful  but 
delightful — is  proof  of  mercy  and  faithfulness  beyond  the 
power  of  language  to  express.'  •  •  •  To  one  of  his 
brethren  in  the  ministry  who  came  in,  he  said,  extending 
his  hand,  'You  see  me  just  going  home.'  His  friend 
said,  '  It  has  often  been  your  privilege  to  administer  con- 
solation to  the  dying  j  I  hope  you  experience  all  those 
consolations  you  have  offered  to  others.'  Raising  his 
voice  in  the  most  emphatic  manner,  he  repeated,  '  more, 
more,  much  more.'  In  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  a  beloved 
friend  was  introduced  to  him.  '  I  do  not  recollect  my 
friends  now,'  he  said.  '  You  remember  the  dear  Saviour 
who  is  by  you  ? '  she  asked.  <  O,  yes,'  emphatically,  'he 
never  so  manifested  his  preciousness  to  me  before.'  It 
was  during  that  night  that  he  ceased  to  breathe,  without 
a  struggle  or  a  groan.  He  had  preached  the  gospel  forty- 
five  years. 

Thus  departed  one  who  was  long  conversant  among  us, 
and  from  whose  lips  most  of  us  have  heard  much  solemn 
mstruction,  and  many  admonitions  to  prepare  for  that 
world  to  which  he  has  gone.  To  those  of  us  who  have 
known  him  long,  and  heard  him  often,  it  must  be  a  touch- 
ing thought  that  that  venerable  head  shall  no  more  appear 
in  our  assemblies,  and  that  voice  be  no  more  heard.    That 


310 

"tall  and  reverend  head"  now  lies  low  in  the  grave,  and 
that  eloquent  voice  is  silent  in  death.  He  is  gone,  and  to 
you,  and  especially  to  me,  does  his  death  bring  a  solemn 
admonition  to  prepare  to  follow  him. 

To  the  students  of  this  Institution,  many  of  whom 
remember  him  as  their  President,  and  at  whose  request 
this  discourse  was  prepared,  it  is  my  desire  that  this 
sketch  of  his  life  may  teach  true  wisdom.  Few  of  you, 
my  dear  young  friends,  can  expect  to  attain  to  the  age 
which  he  reached,  and  perhaps  fewer  still  to  be  as  useful 
and  distinguished.  Bat  notwithstanding  he  lived  so  long, 
and  was  useful  and  honored  in  life,  you  see  that  a  time 
came  when  all  the  applause  that  had  been  bestowed  upon 
him,  and  all  the  honors  he  had  received,  could  avail  him 
nothing ;  and  he  felt  himself  to  be,  according  to  his  own 
expression,  only  .a  poor  sinner,  and  an  old  man  going 
down  into  the  grave.  Oh  the  agony  of  that  hour,  if  the 
life  then  past  had  been  spent  in  the  service  of  sin !  But 
he  had,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  given  himself  to  the 
Saviour ;  he  had  spent  his  life  in  spreading  his  Gospel ; 
and  in  that  hour  he  had  the  support  which  was  ''  so  need- 
ful "  to  him.  Will  you  not  now  give  yourselves  to  the 
same  Saviour,  that  you^  in  your  trying  hour,  and  in  your 
old  age,  may  find  the  same  support  ? 


SERMON, 


OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  PROF.  EBENEZER  KELLOGG. 


October  11,  1846. 


Very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me. — 2  Samuel  i.  26. 

Among  the  sources  of  happiness  provided  for  us,  none  is 
more  worthy  of  notice,  and  if  we  except  those  moral 
powers  by  which  we  are  made  in  the  image  of  God  and 
are  capable  of  communion  with  him,  none  is  more  rich, 
than  our  social  nature.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing  to  behold 
the  sun,  it  is  pleasant  to  look  from  an  eminence  on  the 
varied  face  of  the  green  earth,  to  be  alone  in  the  forest 
amid  the  stillness  of  nature,  to  hear  the  music  of  birds,  the 
hum  of  insects,  and  the  sound  of  waters  ;  but  it  is  more 
pleasant  to  behold  the  countenance  of  a  friend,  to  be  in 
the  midst  of  those  whom  we  love  and  who  love  us,  to 
feel  the  pressure  of  the  hand  of  affection,  and  to  hear  ring- 
ing around  us,  not  merely  the  voice  of  sympathy  and 
kindness,  but  the  varying  voices  of  our  common  humanity. 
"  No  man  liveth  to  himself,  and  no  man  dieth  to  himself." 
God  never  intended  that  one  man  should  suffice  to  him- 
self ;  but  in  that  dependence  upon  each  other  of  all  mate- 
rial things,  by  which  '  the  heavens  hear  the  earth  and  the 
earth  hears  the  corn  and  the  wine  and  the  oil,'  by  which 


312 

the  earth  itself  and  every  star  in  the  depths  of  space  holds 
its  place  only  on  the  co-ndition  of  a  mutual  attraction  and 
an  interdependence  which  may  almost  be  termed  sympa- 
thy, do  we  find  an  intended  emblem  of  that  dependence 
and  sympathy,  and  of  that  harmonious  movement  which 
God  purposed  should  take  place  in  human  society. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  this  sympathy  has  been  inter- 
rupted and  this  harmony  disturbed  by  the  entrance  of  sin, 
so  that  human  society  corresponds  to  the  emblems  pre- 
sented by  nature,  only  as  the  images  of  the  stars  in 
troubled  water  correspond  to  the  quiet  heavens.  It  is  true 
there  is  often  repulsion  when  there  should  be  attraction, 
and  that  discord  and  war  have  disfigured  the  earth.  Yet 
man  cannot  renounce  his  nature,  and  the  great  bond  of 
human  sympathy  has  not  been  broken.  If  it  has  not 
been  strong  enough  to  hold  the  race  together  as  one,  it 
has  yet  sufficed  to  unite  them  in  families  and  communities. 
Every  where  man  has  a  social,  as  well  as  an  individual 
life,  without  which  his  animal  life  could  not  be  preserved, 
and  his  mental  faculties,  finding  neither  motive  nor  thea- 
tre for  action,  must  always  remain  in  imbecility.  So 
general  and  pervading  does  this  social  life  become,  that  it 
almost  seems  to  have  a  separate  and  independent  exist- 
ence ;  and  under  the  form  of  national  character  and  of 
public  opinion,  becomes  the  great  theme  of  history.  The 
individual  is  forgotten,  or  is  only  so  far  regarded  as  he 
represents  and  expresses  what  is  common  to  the  whole. 

The  social  nature  of  man  is  thus  essential  to  his  physi- 
cal, his  intellectual,  and  his  moral  well-being  ;  but  it  cannot 
be  that  he  is  necessarily  selfish  in  its  exercise.  He  may 
become  so,  but  in  the  first  instance  he  puts  this  nature 
forth  because  he  has  it  and  feels  its  promptings,  just  as  he 
breathes  because  he  has  lungs  and  feels  the  necessity  of 
breathing,  and  he  may  be  no  more  selfish  in  the  one  than 
in  the  other.  No  tlieory  of  human  nature  can  be  more 
false  than  that  which  represents  it  as  incapable  of  disin- 


313 

terested  friendship.  Even  heathen  antiquity  rebukes  with 
scorn  such  a  theory  as  this ;  and  it  finds  its  full  refutation 
in  the  sacred  friendship  of  David  and  Jonathan.  This, 
from  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  is  more  especially  true 
of  the  part  taken  by  Jonathan.  He  was  heir  apparent  to 
the  throne,  and,  if  David  were  removed,  had  before  him  a 
prize  for  which  thousands  have  violated  every  tie,  and 
waded  through  seas  of  blood.  But  when  his  father,  with 
the  view  of  securing  the  crown  to  him,  sought  the  life  of 
David,  what  did  he  do  ?  "  And  Jonathan,  Saul's  son, 
arose  and  went  to  David  into  the  wood,  and  strengthened 
his  hands  in  God.  And  he  said  unto  him,  Fear  not :  for 
the  hand  of  Saul  my  father  shall  not  find  thee  ;  and  thou 
shalt  be  king  over  Israel."  Here  was  a  friendship  which 
may  well  defy  all  the  refinements  and  quibblings  of  that 
debasing  theory,  called  the  selfish  system,  to  explain  it 
away. 

Doubtless  there  is  the  same  diversity  here  as  in  the 
other  natural  endowments  of  men  ;  and  as  some  men  have 
by  nature  a  clearer  and  more  powerful  intellect  than 
others,  so  some  are  more  happily  constituted  than  others 
in  their  social  nature.  They  seem  made  to  be  beloved, 
and  to  become  the  centres  of  delight  in  social  converse 
and  in  the  exercise  of  the  affections.  But  while  this  is  so, 
there  is  no  part  of  our  nature  which  more  requires  assidu- 
ous cultivation,  or  more  feels  its  influence.  The  happiest 
natural  constitution,  unguarded  and  unsustained  by  prin- 
ciple, will  degenerate  into  weakness  and  caprice  ;  while 
the  colder  and  harder  combinations,  by  turning  them  up 
to  the  genial  influences  of  kindness  and  Christian  affec- 
tion, may  bring  forth  the  richest  fruits  of  social  enjoyment. 
It  is,  however,  only  when,  to  fine  original  endowments, 
there  is  added  principle,  and  care  in  their  cultivation,  in 
connection  with  the  pure  and  ennobling  doctrines  and 
motives  of  the  religion  of  Christ,  that  man,  as  a  social 
being,  becomes  all  that  he  may  be,  and  all  that  we  delight 
40 


314 

to  contemplate.  When  this  is  the  case,  and  different  indi- 
viduals thus  endowed  and  qualified  become  acquainted 
with  each  other,  there  is  immediately  felt  to  be  an  affini- 
ty, their  souls  flow  together,  and  they  come  at  length  to 
have  a  delight,  not  only  in  the  conversation,  but  in  the 
mere  presence  of  each  other.  And  when,  to  the  attach- 
ments of  friendship  thus  founded  in  our  rational  nature, 
there  come  to  be  added,  and  often  to  blend  in  with  them, 
the  ties  of  natural  affection  as  growing  out  of  the  relations 
of  parent  and  child,  of  brother  and  sister,  of  husband  and 
wife,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  one  man  may  so  become  the 
centre  of  thought  and  affection  that  he  cannot  be  removed 
without  calling  from  the  hearts  of  many  the  lamentation 
of  David  over  Jonathan  :  «'  I  am  distressed  for  thee,  my 
brother ;  very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  unto  me." 

These  words,  the  utterance  of  bereaved  friendship  three 
thousand  years  ago,  we  repeat  to-day.  They  are  the 
utterance  of  our  hearts  in  view  of  the  departure  of  one 
long  known,  and  loved,  and  honored  among  us.  Stand- 
ing, as  it  were,  over  the  remains  of  the  departed,  how 
many  of  us  can  say,  with  an  emphasis  which  we  might 
use  in  regard  to  few  whom  we  have  known,  ''  very  pleas- 
ant hast  thou  been  unto  me  !  "  And  not  only  can  we  say 
this,  who  have  known  him  so  intimately  and  so  long  ; 
but  it  will  be  said  in  substance,  if  not  in  form,  through 
all  the  numerous  circles  of  his  relatives  and  friends,  and 
by  the  graduates  of  this  college  for  the  last  thirty  years, 
wherever  they  are  dispersed  over  the  whole  land.  Prob- 
ably few  men  could  be  taken  from  the  community  whose 
death  would  call  forth  more  extensively  the  sentiment  of 
the  text. 

Let  us,  then,  in  the  grateful  recognition  of  His  good- 
ness, from  whom  cometh  down  every  good  and  perfect 
gift,  and  in  humble  submission  to  His  wisdom  who  gives 
and  takes  away,  after  a  very  brief  statement  of  facts,  look 
at  some  of  those  traits  of  character  in  our  departed  friend, 


315 

regarded  as  a  man,  as  a  college  officer^  and  as  a  Christian^ 
by  which  this  sentiment  has  been  so  extensively  produced. 

Ebenezer  Kellogg  was  bom  at  Vernon,  Connecticut, 
October  25,  1789  ;  so  that  if  he  had  lived  till  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  the  present  month,  he  would  have  been  fifty-seven 
years  old.  Of  his  childhood  and  youth  I  know  nothing 
that  would  require  a  mention  in  this  place.  He  entered 
the  Sophomore  class  in  Yale  college  in  1807,  and  gradu- 
ated in  1810.  In  a  revival  during  his  college  course,  he 
was,  as  he  hoped,  brought  to  the  Saviour,  and  he  made  a 
profession  of  religion.  After  leaving  college  he  was 
engaged  in  teaching  for  two  years.  He  then  went  to 
Andover,  where  he  pursued  his  theological  course.  About 
the  time  that  was  completed,  having  received  a  license  to 
preach,  but  not  having,  so  far  as  is  known,  preached  any 
where  as  a  candidate,  he  received  an  appointment  to  the 
professorship  of  languages  in  this  college.  This  he 
accepted,  and  entered  upon  his  office  at  the  same  time 
with  President  Moore,  in  1815.  Two  years  after,  in 
1817,  when  on  a  visit  at  Vernon,  he  was  suddenly  taken 
with  bleeding  at  the  lungs,  and  by  the  advice  of  physi- 
cians went  to  the  South  and  spent  the  winter  there.  The 
following  spring  he  returned  with  improved  health.  His 
constitution,  however,  had  received  a  blow  from  which  it 
never  recovered.  His  attacks  of  bleeding  recurred,  some* 
times  bringing  him  to  the  borders  of  the  grave,  and  it  has 
only  been  by  the  utmost  prudence  and  care  that  his  life 
has  been  preserved  so  long.  In  1826  he  was  married  to 
Miss  Susan  Coit,  of  New  London,  Connecticut.  Not-^ 
withstanding  the  utmost  care,  the  disease  of  his  lungs 
made  progress,  and  in  1844  he  judged  it  best  to  resign  his 
office  in  college.  Since  then  he  has  been  gradually  fail- 
ing. He  continued,  however,  to  sit  up  the  most  of  the 
day  till  two  days  before  his  death.  This  occurred  on 
Friday  morning,  the  second  day  of  the  present  month. 


S16 

I  now  proceed  to  observe,  in  accordance  with  the 
sentiment  of  the  text,  that  Professor  Kellogg  was  very- 
pleasant  to  his  friends  as  a  man,  because  they  had  perfect 
confidence  in  him. 

I  mention  this  first,  because  it  is  a  general  condition, 
without  which  no  brilliancy  of  talents,  and  no  charm  of 
social  qualities  can  ever  give  full  satisfaction.  It  is  like  a 
clear  and  healthy  atmosphere,  in  which  we  are  able  to  see 
and  to  enjoy  all  other  objects.  In  the  most  of  our  inter- 
course with  our  fellow  men  we  may  be  conscious  of  no 
distrust ;  but  in  all  the  intercourse  of  his  friends  with  him 
there  was  a  positive  feeling  of  confidence  and  security  of 
which  he  only  can  know  the  value  who  has  felt  the  want. 
This  arose  from  the  union  in  him  of  integrity  and  purity 
of  purpose,  with  prudence.  It  is  comparatively  easy  to 
find  men  in  whose  integrity  of  purpose  and  purity  of 
motive  we  have  confidence,  and  we  give  them  our  esteem 
and  moral  approbation  ;  but  they  are  often  far  from  being 
persons  to  whom  we  can  go  for  counsel  in  difficult  and 
trying  circumstances,  and  to  whom  we  can  intrust  mat- 
ters requiring  secrecy  and  discretion.  But  this  union 
existed  in  Professor  Kellogg  in  an  unusual  degree,  and 
accordingly  his  friends  felt,  not  only  that  he  was  an  hon- 
est and  well  meaning  man,  but  that  he  was  a  man  in 
whom  they  could  confide  in  all  respects.  They  felt  that 
they  could  consult  him  in  the  most  delicate  matter,  and 
intrust  to  him  a  full  knowledge  of  the  most  important 
interests,  without  any  fear  that  he  would  improperly  repeat 
what  had  been  said,  or  incidentally  and  thoughtlessly 
expose  to  hazard  the  interests  intrusted  to  him.  Free 
alike  from  ill  nature,  from  vanity  and  from  heedlessness, 
— from  one  or  the  other,  or  from  a  combination  of  which, 
men  are  most  liable  so  to  expose  secrets,  or  to  prejudice 
interests  intrusted  to  them,  as  to  create  difficulties  in  fam- 
ilies and  in  neighborhoods, — he  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of 
social  serenity,   not  only  creating   no  difficulty  by  any 


317 

remarks  or  conduct  of  his,  but  if  any  existed,  seeking  to 
allay  it.  Having  then  these  qualities,  and  manifesting 
them  steadily  for  a  long  course  of  years,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  he  had  very  fully  the  confidence  of  his 
friends. 

I  observe  secondly,  that  Professor  Kellogg  was  very 
pleasant  to  his  friends  because  of  that  general  structure 
of  mind  which  might  be  said  to  constitute  his  individu- 
ality. 

He  was  one  of  those  men  who  have  strongly  marked 
peculiarities,  which  yet  do  not  go  to  such  a  length  as  to 
become  weaknesses.  On  the  other  hand,  they  were  such 
only  as  are  required  by  the  variety,  the  harmony,  and 
even  by  the  wants  of  human  society.  While,  therefore, 
we  should  not  wish  to  have  every  man  to  be,  in  the  points 
referred  to,  such  a  man,  we  should  yet  not  have  wished 
to  have  him  different.  Among  these  I  will  only  mention 
here  that  peculiarity  of  mind  which  led  him  to  notice  all 
the  particulars  of  every  subject  in  which  he  was  interested, 
and  to  go  into  all  its  details.  No  one  can  have  been  long 
acquainted  with  Professor  Kellogg  without  noticing  this 
trait.  It  showed  itself  in  his  inquiries,  in  the  kind  of 
knowledge  which  he  had  on  many  subjects,  in  the  objec- 
tions he  would  start  to  any  plan  proposed,  and  in  the 
thoroughness  and  completeness  with  which  he  would 
carry  out  those  things  which  he  undertook.  A  striking 
illustration  of  this,  showing  at  the  same  time  his  con- 
tinued interest  in  the  college,  he  gave  in  a  plan  which 
he  drew  up  not  long  before  his  death  for  the  improvement 
of  extempore  speaking  among  the  students,  by  the  insti- 
tution, if  the  means  could  be  procured,  of  prizes  for  that 
purpose.  The  plan  was  judicious,  and,  if  it  could  be 
carried  into  effect,  would  do  much  good ;  but  it  covered 
two  or  three  sheets  of  paper,  and  every  possible  emer- 
gency and  objection  were  considered  and  provided  for. 
This  habit  of  mind  would  naturally  beget  caution,  and 


318 

accordingly,  he  well  understood,  and  in  its  spirit  com- 
mended to  others,  that  maxim  which  would  teach  us  to 
''  make  haste  slowly."  This  particularity  and  caution 
did  not,  however,  render  him  deficient  in  enterprise.  He 
often  originated  new  plans,  which  he  W£ls  just  as  ready  to 
scrutinize,  as  he  was  to  check  the  ardor  of  others  in  those 
proposed  by  them. 

I  observe  thirdly,  that  he  was  very  pleasant  to  his 
friends,  because  of  the  elegance  of  his  mind,  and  the 
refinement  of  his  taste. 

These  traits  are  naturally  connected  with  the  peculi- 
arity just  mentioned  and  were  heightened  by  it.  In  con- 
nection with  his  social  nature, — for  no  man  could  more 
enjoy  the  pleasant,  and  even  playful  unbending  of  the 
mind,  and  with  the  fertility  of  classical  allusion  to  which 
his  studies  could  not  fail  to  give  rise, — these  traits  gave  to 
his  conversation  among  intimate  friends,  a  charm  seldom 
to  be  met  with,  especially  in  these  days  of  intense  occu- 
pation and  of  railroad  speed  in  everything,  when  fine 
powers  of  conversation  seem  to  be  in  danger  of  dying 
out.  Without  causing  him  to  be  fastidious,  they  ren- 
dered every  thing  that  he  said,  and  everything  that  he 
did,  neat,  and  often  exceedingly  happy.  He  was,  of 
course,  in  his  feelings,  and  in  all  his  associations  and 
habits,  gentlemanly, — very  far  removed  from  any  thing 
gross  or  unseemly. 

I  observe  finally,  under  this  head,  that  Professor  Kel- 
logg was  very  pleasant  to  his  friends  because  of  his 
genuine  kindness  of  heart,  and  of  his  attachment  to 
them. 

This  kindness,  which  really  seeks  the  good  of  others, 
is  very  soon  distinguished  from  those  civilities  and  polite 
attentions  through  which  persons  seek  their  own  good  by 
ingratiating  themselves  into  the  good  opinion  of  others. 
He  knew,  only  to  despise,  that  school  of  manners  of 
which  this  is  the  leading  aim,  having  deception  and  hy- 


319 

pocrisy,  under  the  name  of  good  breeding,  for  its  means, 
and  an  unmitigated  selfishness  for  its  end.  He  was  truly 
kind,  not  unnecessarily  wounding  the  feelings  of  any,  but 
not  over-complaisant,  and  never  deceptive  in  his  expres- 
sions of  attachment  and  good  will.  This  led  him  to 
make  real  sacrifices  for  his  friends,  and  for  any  whom  he 
thought  he  could  benefit.  And  not  only  did  he  do  acts 
of  kindness  when  asked,  but  he  was  thoughtful  in  devis- 
ing methods  to  gratify  his  friends,  and  remembered  those 
slighter  attentions  which  many  quite  overlook.  But 
while  he  was  thus  kind,  he  did  not  hesitate,  as  indeed  no 
truly  kind  man  ever  can,  to  give  reproof.  He  did  it, 
however,  in  such  a  way,  that  he  who  was  the  subject  of 
it  generally  felt  that  the  wounds  of  a  friend  were  faithful, 
and  that  he  was  ready  to  say,  "  Let  the  righteous  smite 
me,  it  shall  be  a  kindness ;  and  let  him  reprove  me,  it 
shall  be  an  excellent  oil  which  shall  not  break  my  head." 
This  attachment  to  his  friends  appeared  in  a  strong  and 
affecting  light  just  before  his  death.  To  show  this,  it 
will  be  necessary  to  state  the  circumstances  in  which  he 
was  placed.  In  the  morning,  when  I  was  called  in,  he  was 
unable  to  speak,  and  his  mind  seemed  to  be  wandering. 
He  breathed  with  much  difficulty,  and  it  was  doubtful 
whether  he  would  ever  speak  again.  However,  he  gradu- 
ally recovered  so  far  as  to  ask  us  to  pray  with  him.  This 
was  done  very  briefly,  as  his  state  seemed  to  require ;  but 
as  his  mind  returned,  he  again  requested  prayer.  The 
family  were  then  called,  and  he  gathered  from  some  ex- 
pression in  the  prayer  that  we  supposed  his  time  had 
come,  and  when  the  prayer  was  concluded  he  asked  if  we 
supposed  he  was  about  to  die.  He  was  told  that  we  did. 
He  said  he  had  all  along  expected  to  die,  but  that  he  had 
not  particularly  expected  it  that  morning ;  that  his  mind 
was  then  much  occupied  with  his  bodily  state,  and  he 
wished  us  to  pray  with  him  again,  and  to  ask  that  he 
might  have  clear  views  of  God  and   of  those  great  reali- 


320 

ties  to  the  consideration  of  which  he  now  wished  to 
address  himself.  After  the  prayer  he  remained  for  a  time 
in  thought ;  then  looking  up  he  said,  "  My  friends,  kiss 
me  all  round."  When  this  had  been  done,  he  called  his 
wife,  and  afterwards  all  who  were  present,  one  by  one,  to 
whisper  to  them  his  last  words  of  affection,  of  thanks,  of 
kind  wishes.  He  also  remembered  the  absent,  and  sent 
messages,  with  his  love,  to  his  brothers  and  sisters  and 
other  friends.  He  then  called  to  the  doctor,  and  said, 
''  Doctor,  remember  me  to  the  aged  and  suffering  members 
of  this  church."  This  he  repeated.  He  subsequently 
broke  out  and  said,  "  My  thoughts  are  upon  my  friends, 
one  and  another  are  running  through  my  mind."  He 
also  prayed  for  those  for  whose  good  he  had  labored,  that 
God  would  bless  them.  And  here  I  may  mention  what 
also  occurred  afterwards,  a  slight  incident,  but  one  which 
affected  me  much.  I  was  standing  alone  by  his  bedside, 
with  my  hand  resting  on  the  bed  near  his.  He  moved 
his  hand,  and  took  hold  of  mine,  and  simply  said,  ''  Dear 
brother."  Such  expressions,  at  such  an  hour,  could  have 
come  only  from  a  heart  possessed  of  genuine  kindness, 
and  of  strong  attachment  to  his  friends.  How  could  such 
a  man  fail  of  fulfilling  aright  the  duties  of  a  husband  and 
a  brother  ?  How  could  he  fail  of  being  very  pleasant  to 
his  friends  ? 

I  next  proceed  to  observe,  that  Professor  Kellogg  was 
very  pleasant  to  those  who  were  associated  with  him  as 
a  college  officer^  because  of  his  general  attainments  as  a 
scholar. 

The  department  in  which  he  was,  and  which  he 
adorned,  was  undoubtedly  that  which  was  best  adapted 
to  his  taste  and  habits  of  mind.  There  was,  indeed,  a 
remarkable  adaptation  to  the  structure  and  habits  of  his 
mind  of  the  classic  elegance  of  the  Greek  and  Latin,  and 
of  the  minute  research  and  nice  perception  of  the  shades 
of  meaning  in  words,  required  by  the  study  of  languages. 


321 

Still,  while  he  excelled  in  that  department,  he  was  by  no 
means  deficient  in  others.  On  the  contrary,  his  knowl- 
edge in  other  branches  was  extensive  and  thorough.  He 
was  a  good  mathematician,  so  much  so,  that  at  one  time, 
when  it  was  found  difficult  to  fill  the  professorship  of 
mathematics,  he  was  transferred  from  his  own  department 
to  that,  and  it  was  not  from  any  deficiency  of  knowledge 
or  ability  to  teach,  that  he  was  not  continued  in  that 
department.  This  general  acquaintance  with  the  different 
branches  of  study  gave  him  liberality  and  breadth  of  view, 
enabled  him  rightly  to  appreciate  the  importance  and 
bearings  of  other  branches  of  knowledge  besides  that  in 
which  he  was  more  immediately  interested,  and  when  it 
became  necessary  or  desirable  that  he  should  hear  recita- 
tions in  different  departments,  he  could  do  so  with  advan- 
tage. All  this  made  him  far  more  pleasant  to  those  who 
were  associated  with  him  than  if  he  had  been  a  mere 
literary  artizan,  pursuing  his  own  narrow  track. 

But  I  observe  secondly,  that  he  was  very  pleasant  to 
those  who  were  associated  with  him  as  a  college  officer, 
because  of  his  thorough  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the 
college. 

It  was  always,  and  evidently,  his  object  to  serve  the 
college  and  advance  its  interests,  and  not  to  make  the  col- 
lege a  means  of  serving  him  and  of  advancing  his  interests. 
Hence,  having  no  personal  ends  to  carry,  there  was  always 
about  him  a  spirit  of  accommodation  in  regard  to  any 
arrangement  or  distribution  of  labor  by  which  the  good  of 
the  college  was  to  be  promoted.  Hence  too,  the  extent 
to  which  his  thoughts,  and  cares,  and  efforts,  were  given 
to  the  college,  was  by  no  means  limited  simply  to  that 
range  which  would  be  required  by  public  sentiment  in 
immediate  connection  with  his  department.  He  was  not 
the  man  to  suspect  that  any  thing  was  going  wrong  and 
shun  the  labor  or  the  responsibility  of  looking  into  it.  In 
every  such  institution  too,  there  must  be  many  miscella- 
41 


322 

neous  matters  that  need  attention,  which  will  seem  to 
devolve  on  no  one  in  particular.  To  every  thing  of  this 
kind  he  was  prompt  in  giving  his  attention,  and  in  calling 
to  it  the  attention  of  others.  His  labors  of  this  kind  were 
indefatigable  and  invaluable.  Any  such  body  of  men  as 
the  faculty  of  a  college,  must  be  deficient  in  its  organiza- 
tion, without  one  man,  at  least,  who  is  able  and  willing 
to  give  attention  to  this  class  of  duties,  and  to  see  that 
every  thing  goes  right.  For  this  class  of  duties  the  trait 
of  mind  of  which  I  have  already  spoken  admirably  fitted 
him,  and  he  gave  it  full  scope.  Having  been  for  twenty- 
nine  years  in  active  duty  here,  and  the  college  during  that 
time  having  often  been  in  circumstances  of  embarrassment, 
he  never  hesitated  to  make  sacrifices,  to  live  on  a  small 
salary  without  complaint,  or  to  do  an  amount  of  miscella- 
neous labor  which  few  men  would  have  been  willing  to 
undertake.  And  not  only  is  the  college  indebted  to  him 
in  these  respects,  but  to  him  chiefly  was  it  owing  that  the 
apparatus  fund  was  raised ;  with  him  also  originated  the 
idea  of  the  college  garden,  and  he  purchased  the  ground 
and  gave  it  to  the  college.  There  are,  therefore,  few  men 
to  whom  the  college  is  under  greater  obligations. 

My  last  observation  under  this  head  is,  that  Professor 
Kellogg  was  very  pleasant  not  only  to  the  officers  of  col- 
lege, but  also,  generally,  to  the  students,  because  of  his 
firmness,  united  with  faithfulness  and  patience,  in  instruc- 
tion and  discipline. 

By  this  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  was  always  pop- 
ular among  students.  This  was  not  the  case ;  but  when  it 
was  not,  it  was  an  honor  to  him.  It  is  in  itself  no  honor 
to  be  unpopular.  There  may  be  those  who  are  unpopu- 
lar, and  who  ought  to  be.  But  when  times  and  tastes  are 
changing,  and  young  men  are  capricious  and  restive  under 
salutary  restraint  and  an  exact  requirement  of  their  duties, 
it  is  then  an  honor  to  be  unpopular  among  them.  I  would 
not  say  that  he  never  pressed  a  minor  point  farther  than 


323 

was  necessary,  that  he  was  never  over  strenuous  in  an 
unimportant  matter  ;  bat  whenever  this  was  so,  it  was 
from  principle,  and  though  students  might  dislike  it  at  the 
time,  yet  when  they  became  acquainted  with  him,  they 
respected  him  for  it.  Seldom  has  that  saying  of  the  wise 
man  been  more  fully  exemplified  than  in  his  case  ;  "  He 
that  rebuketh  a  man," — that  is,  is  faithful  with  him, 
presses  him  up  to  his  duty, — "  afterwards  shall  find  more 
favor  than  he  that  flattereth  with  his  tongue."  After 
students  left  college,  it  is  believed  that  they  almost  uni- 
formly regarded  him  with  great  affection  and  respect. 
Certainly  their  feelings  were  very  different  towards  him 
from  those  they  would  have  had  towards  one  who  should 
have  lowered  any  standard,  or  relaxed  any  requisition,  or 
accommodated  himself  to  any  desire,  for  the  sake  of  gain- 
ing immediate  and  temporary  favor.  And  what  thus  ren- 
dered him  pleasant  on  the  whole  to  the  students  of  college, 
rendered  him  also  pleasant  to  those  associated  with  him 
as  an  officer,  because  he  was  always  ready  to  stand  in  his 
place,  and  if  there  was  odium  to  be  borne,  to  bear  his  full 
share  of  it. 

We  now  come  to  consider  Professor  Kellogg  as  a 
Christian. 

And  here  I  should  say,  that  perhaps  his  prominent 
characteristics  were,  a  pervading  reverence  for  God,  and  a 
deep  awe  of  him  as  a  holy  God.  Hence,  there  was  in 
him  no  approach  towards  levity,  or  towards  a  certain 
familiarity  which  borders  upon  it,  in  connection  with  the 
name,  or  institutions,  or  worship  of  God.  In  connection 
with  this,  too,  he  had,  as  he  naturally  would  have,  a 
strong  sense  of  the  dreadful  nature  of  sin,  and  of  the  anger 
of  God  against  it,  not  unmixed  with  apprehension,  and  of 
this  he  was  not  fully  divested  till  at,  or  near  the  close  of 
life.  With  him  it  was  by  no  means  a  matter  of  course 
that  God  should  forgive  sin,  and  it  was  only  in  connection 
with  the  plan  of  salvation  by  Christ,  which,  he  at  one 


324 

time  said,  seemed  almost  too  great  and  glorious  to  be 
real,  that  he  supposed  it  could  be  forgiven.  This  gen- 
eral feeling  which  I  have  described,  I  have  heard  him 
express  more  than  once,  and  it  showed  itself  strikingly 
in  that  interval  of  strength  and  clearness  of  intellect  of 
which  I  have  already  spoken,  and  for  which,  when  he 
became  exhausted,  he  expressly  thanked  God.  During 
that  time  he  broke  out  in  a  prayer  commeilcing  thus, 
*'  O  God,  thy  wrath  I  cannot  bear."  The  conclusion  of 
the  prayer,  I  will  add,  was  expressive  of  confidence.  It 
was  from  the  same  feeling,  that  among  the  things  that  he 
wished  us  to  pray  for  expressly  at  one  time,  the  first  that 
he  mentioned  was  pardon — that  he  might  be  forgiven. 
Hence,  too,  when  he  asked  me  to  repeat  passages  of 
Scripture  that  might  meet  his  case,  and  when,  after  hav- 
ing repeated  a  number,  I  mentioned  that  in  Isaiah,  where 
it  is  written,  "  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet  they  shall  be 
white  as  snow,  though  they  be  red  like  crimson  they  shall 
be  as  wool ;  "  he  immediately  said,  "  There  !  there  !  hold 
on  there  !  How  blessed  at  such  a  moment  to  be  able  to 
add,  '  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  his  Son  cleanseth  us  from 
all  sin.'  "  This  was  one  of  the  subjects  on  which,  as  he 
said  a  few  weeks  previous,  his  views  changed  as  he  drew 
near  death.  He  said  he  had  a  deeper  sense  of  the  dread- 
ful evil  of  sin  as  committed  against  God.  In  this  feeling, 
and  in  his  reverence  and  awe  of  God,  there  was  nothing 
of  slavish  fear — no  man  could  be  farther  than  he  from  any 
tincture  of  gloom — it  was  the  feeling  becoming  the  crea- 
ture towards  the  Creator,  becoming  the  redeemed,  yet 
trembling  sinner,  towards  the  holy  Lawgiver.  It  was  the 
opposite  alike  of  the  stupidity  and  spiritual  obtuseness  of 
the  sensualist  and  worldling,  of  the  blind  self-complacency 
of  the  mere  moralist,  and  of  a  certain  fool-hardiness  and 
presumption  sometimes  mistaken  for  true  fortitude ;  and 
we  could  have  wished  to  see  it  removed  only  by  a  fuller 
and  more  joyful  consciousness  of  acceptance  in  the 
Beloved. 


325 

Intimately  connected  with  the  trait  in  Professor  Kellogg 
just  mentioned,  was  a  strong  sense  of  his  unworthiness, 
and  of  the  imperfections  of  his  Christian  life.  This  he 
expressed  to  me  in  a  conversation  some  time  before  his 
death,  in  which  he  said  he  was  led  to  doubt  whether  a 
person  whose  life  had  been  so  imperfect  as  his,  could  be  a 
Christian.  His  mind  seemed  to  rest,  not  so  much  on  what 
he  had  done  that  was  wrong,  as  on  the  fact  that  he  had 
done  so  little  for  Christ.  He  said  that  when  he  looked  at 
the  amazing  love  of  Christ  for  us,  and  at  what  he  had 
done,  it  seemed  to  him  that  any  one  who  loved  him  in 
return,  that  is  who  was  a  Christian  at  all,  must  have  done 
more  for  his  cause  than  he  had. — "  That,"  said  he,  "is  my 
trouble."  The  same  thing  appeared  in  a  prayer  a  little 
before  his  death.  He  prayed  twice  that  God  would  do 
away  the  evil  effects  of  his  example  ;  and  he  said  it  was 
a  very  consoling  thought,  that  God  could  do  that,  and 
that  he  could  bring  good  out  of  evil. 

With  the  general  turn  of  mind  now  spoken  of,  there 
would  naturally  be  connected  submission  and  patience 
under  suffering,  and  accordingly,  I  observe  again,  that 
Professor  Kellogg  was  remarkable  for  these. 

In  the  practice  of  these  virtues  his  trial  was  severe  and 
long  continued.  For  many  years  his  life  was  preserved 
only  by  such  care  as  few  men  would  have  given,  and 
more  than  once  during  that  time  he  was  brought  to  the 
borders  of  the  grave.  This  interfered  with  all  his  plans 
and  interrupted  all  his  labors.  Nor  was  his  principal 
disease  the  only  difficulty  with  which  he  had  to  contend 
during  this  long  period;  when  general  weakness  came  on, 
and  the  constitution  began  to  fail,  there  were  others 
which  caused  him  much  suffering :  but  so  far  as  I  ever 
heard  or  knew,  he  never  once  spoke  unadvisedly  with  his 
lips.  In  this  respect  he  may  properly  be  held  up  as  an 
example. 

Having  the  views  which  I  have  stated  of  the  character 


326 

of  God,  and  of  his  own  life,  it  was  to  be  expected  that 
he  would  rest  his  hope  for  salvation  on  Christ  alone. 
This  he  did.  He  had  no  ecstasies,  no  raptures ;  it  was 
not  the  tendency  of  his  mind.  He  had  none  in  life,  he 
had  none  in  death.  But  he  had  faith,  and  that  faith  sus- 
tained him.  True,  he  was  at  times  distrustful  of  himself. 
I  remember  to  have  heard  him  say  at  one  time,  ''  I  cannot 
doubt  his  readiness  to  receive  all  who  come,  but  do  I 
come?"  Still,  there  was  during  his  sickness  a  gradual 
strengthening  of  faith  and  hope,  so  that  once  particularly, 
during  that  period  of  an  hour  or  more  of  which  I  have 
already  spoken,  he  broke  out  of  his  own  accord  in  strong 
expressions  of  hope  in  God,  and  of  confidence  that  the 
Saviour  would  receive  him.  That  the  Saviour  has  thus 
received  him  we  humbly  hope.  We  cannot  doubt  but 
that  to  him  it  has  been  gain  to  die  ;  that  he  is  now  in  a 
world  where  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow, 
nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain :  for  the 
former  things  are  passed  away.  ''  Blessed  are  the  dead 
which  die  in  the  Lord  from  henceforth :  yea,  saith  the 
Spirit,  that  they  may  rest  from  their  labors ;  and  their 
works  do  follow  them." 

And  now,  having  mentioned  some  reasons  why  Pro- 
fessor Kellogg  was  very  pleasant  to  his  friends  and  his 
associates,  and  given  some  traits  of  his  Christian  charac- 
ter, I  trust  I  may  be  permitted,  individually,  to  adopt  the 
language  of  the  text,  and  to  say,  '  Very  pleasant  hast  thou 
been  unto  me.'  The  greater  part  of  the  time  for  the  last 
twenty-five  years,  I  have  been  associated  with  him  either 
as  a  student  or  as  an  officer  of  this  college.  During  all 
that  time,  I  have  no  recollection  that  one  unkind  word 
ever  passed  between  us,  and  no  knowledge  that  a  single 
unpleasant  feeling  ever  existed.  On  the  contrary,  he  has 
been  uniform  and  steady  in  his  friendship  and  support,  and 
has  often  given  indications  of  his  kindness  and  interest 
that  can  never  be  forgotten.     I  feel,  to-day,  that  there  has 


327 

been  taken  from  my  side  a  counsellor  and  friend.  "  I 
am  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother :  very  pleasant  hast 
thou  been  unto  me." 

Thus  has  there  ceased  from  among  us,  one,  who  for 
the  last  thirty  years  has  gone  in  and  out  here  as  a  mem- 
ber of  this  church,  and  an  officer  of  this  college  :  and 
who  is  there  that  hears  me,  whom  this  life  and  this  death 
do  not  address  in  tones  of  interest  and  of  solemnity  ? 

To  her  who  has  stood  to  him  in  the  nearest  and  dearest 
relation  that  earth  knows,  this  life  and  this  death  must 
ever  remain  inwoven  as  a  part  of  her  being.  We  pray 
that  their  whole  influence  may  be  to  bring  her  nearer  to 
God,  to  make  her  more  like  the  Saviour,  to  give  her  a 
firmer  and  a  brighter  hope  in  the  hour  of  her  own  death. 
We  rejoice, in  all  the  circumstances  of  alleviation  w^hich 
she  must  feel  are  connected  with  this  event,  and  we  join 
with  him  who  has  been  taken  from  her  in  his  parting 
words  to  her,  "  God  be  with  thee — the  Saviour  love 
thee." 

To  the  officers  of  this  college,  this  event  is  a  call 
solemnly  to  review  the  spirit  and  motives  by  which  they 
are  actuated  in  the  responsible  work  in  which  they  are 
engaged.  It  is,  my  brethren,  a  great  thing  to  fulfil  such  a 
trust,  not  merely  so  as  to  avoid  the  censure  or  to  meet  the 
approbation  of  men,  but  so  as  to  meet  the  approbation  of 
God.  It  is  ours  to  make  impressions  upon  the  deathless 
minds  of  those  who  may  be  expected  to  take  a  prominent 
part  in  human  affairs,  and  we  need  the  grace  of  God,  and 
wisdom,  not  merely  to  teach  particular  branches  of  knowl- 
edge, but  to  educate  the  whole  man  for  this  world  and  for 
the  next.  All  the  qualifications  requisite  for  this,  no  one 
man  possesses ;  but  for  the  attainment  of  this  wisdom  we 
may  find  most  valuable  lessons  by  pondering  the  life  and 
spirit  of  our  departed  associate.  Let  none  of  us  fail  to 
read  those  bright  lines  of  goodness  Avhich  the  providence 


328 

of  God  has  thus  caused  to  be  traced  before  our  eyes ;  or 
reading  them,  fail  to  devote  ourselves  with  a  more  chas- 
tened and  unselfish,  and  yet  more  earnest  spirit,  to  the 
great  work  in  which  we  are  engaged. 

And  will  it  be  said  by  the  students  who  hear  me,  that 
because  no  one  of  the  present  classes  has  been  taught  by 
Professor  Kellogg,  therefore  no  special  voice  of  instruc- 
tion comes  to  them  ?  I  think  not ;  for  not  only  has  he 
been  an  honor  to  the  institution  with  which  you  are  con- 
nected, but  he  has  been  your  predecessor  in  the  paths 
upon  which  you  have  now  entered ;  and  it  is  something 
for  one  in  his  novitiate  to  see  a  veteran  lay  his  armor 
down.  The  hopes  and  fears,  the  excitements  and  the 
toils,  by  which  you  are  now  agitated  and  employed,  were 
once  shared  by  him.  He  once  began  to  climb  the  same 
steep  which  you  are  now  ascending,  and  he  plucked  a 
richer  store  than  is  gathered  by  most,  of  the  flowers  and 
fruits  that  grow  by  the  way.  But  those  flowers  were  not 
amaranthine  ;  those  fruits  were  not  that  bread  of  which  if 
a  man  eat  he  shall  live  for  ever.  In  the  hour  of  death  it 
was  not  his  attainments  as  a  scholar  that  he  valued ;  it 
was  not  these  that  sustained  him.  What  he  needed,  and 
what  he  felt  to  be  needed  by  others,  was  hope  in  death. 
Yes,  hope  in  death !  That  is  what  you  will  each  one  of 
you  need — a  good  hope — a  hope  that  shall  be  as  an  anchor 
to  the  soul.  O  that,  in  view  of  this  solemn  event,  you 
would  turn  from  the  things  of  time,  and  cast  the  anchor 
of  your  hope  within  the  vail ! 

To  this  church  and  congregation,  to  all  of  us  who  are 
embarked  on  the  voyage  of  time,  and  are  interested  to 
know  the  views  that  will  open  upon  us  as  we  proceed, 
this  event  ought  not  to  be  in  vain.  You  all  know  what 
the  example  of  Professor  Kellogg  was — one  of  uncommon 
uprightness,  conscientiousness  and  purity.  He  wronged 
no  man.  He  met  very  fully  his  duties  in  the  various 
social  relations,  and  as  a  member  of  society,  not  with- 


329 

drawing  from  them,  as  he  might  have  been  expected  to 
do,  on  account  of  his  health  or  of  his  literary  pursuits. 
He  was  interested  and  active  in  the  affairs  of  the  town, 
and  of  the  church,  and  was  for  a  long  time  the  superin- 
tendent of  the  Sabbath  school.  Nor,  if  we  try  him  by 
what  is  generally  expected,  or  by  what  is  generally  done, 
could  he  be  said  to  be  deficient  in  direct  efforts  for  the 
spiritual  good  of  others.  And  yet,  when  he  approached 
death,  he  prayed  earnestly  that  God  would  do  away  the 
evil  of  his  example.  Shall  we  say  then,  that  he  was  un- 
necessarily disquieted,  and  that  his  example  was  all  that  it 
ought  to  have  been  ?  He  would  not  wish  me  to  say  this  ; 
faithfulness  to  you,  who  are  nearing  the  same  point,  for- 
bids me  to  say  this.  What  then  can  I  do,  but  to  point 
you  to  a  higher  example,  even  that  of  Christ,  and  to  sound 
in  your  ears  those  fearful  words  of  the  apostle,  ''  If  the 
righteous  scarcely  be  saved,  where  shall  the  ungodly  and 
the  sinner  appear  ? " 

But  this  is  not  the  only  point  on  which  his  views 
changed.  I  have  already  spoken  of  what  he  said  of  the 
evil  of  sin.  This  he  repeated  more  than  once.  As  he 
approached  the  borders  of  eternity,  it  seemed  to  him  more 
and  more  a  dreadful  thing  that  men  should  sin  as  they 
do  against  God.  In  the  security  of  health,  mingling  in 
with  the  currents  and  allured  by  the  examples  of  this 
world,  who  is  there  that  habitually  and  constantly  fear^o 
sin  against  God  ?  It  seems  then  a  light  matter ;  and 
there  are  even  fools  that  make  a  mock  of  sin ;  but  when 
the  world  recedes,  and  we  feel  that  we  are  approaching 
into  the  immediate  presence  of  God,  we  must  view  this 
in  another  light.  Then  we  see  the  true  ends  of  life,  the 
goodness  and  forbearance  and  long  suffering  of  God 
towards  his  creatures,  and  how  awful  a  thing  it  is  for  his 
creatures  to  pervert  all  the  good  gifts  of  the  Creator,  and 
to  live  for  ends  that  he  never  intended,  and  then,  having 
done  this,  to  reject  redeeming  mercy.  Is  it  wonderful, 
42 


330 

that  when  this  is  seen,  the  pardon  of  sin  should  be  felt  to 
be  the  great  thing  needed  ?  And  when  the  hope  that  this 
pardon  may  be  granted,  that  his  sins,  though  they  be  as 
scarlet,  may  become  white  as  snow,  is  brought  home  to 
the  soul  in  the  blessed  language  of  Scripture,  may  it  not 
be  felt  that  the  great  problem  for  man  is  solved  ?  Is  it 
wonderful  that  he  should  exclaim  at  once,  ''  There ! 
there  !  hold  on  there  !  " 

It  was  also  said  by  Professor  Kellogg  some  time  before 
his  death,  that  it  seemed  more  and  more  strange  to  him, 
that  so  many  persons  believed  the  great  truths  of  the 
Christian  religion,  or  professed  to  believe  them,  and  yet 
acted  as  if  they  did  not.  This  is,  indeed,  the  great  moral 
wonder  of  Christendom,  whether  we  regard  those  who 
profess  religion,  or  those  who  do  not.  It  is  not,  my  hear- 
ers, that  there  is  not  truth  enough  pervading  the  moral 
atmosphere,  and  lodged  in  your  minds.  Let  but  this  truth 
be  quickened  so  that  every  person  should  obey  it,  acting 
up  honestly  to  his  own  convictions,  and  there  would  be  a 
movement  like  that  which  took  place  among  the  dry 
bones  of  the  prophet.  Bone  would  come  together  to  its 
fellow  bone,  and  sinews  and  flesh  would  come  upon  them, 
and,  in  evei'y  valley  of  moral  death,  and  over  this  sin- 
stricken  world,  there  would  stand  up  an  exceeding  great 
army,  ready  to  march  whithersoever  they  might  be  direct- 
ed under  the  banners  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts. 

I  observe  finally,  that  as  Professor  Kellogg  approached 
eternity,  his  views  changed  in  regard  to  the  brevity  of 
life  at  its  best  estate.  He  said  that  when  persons  came 
in  to  see  him,  they  felt  that  they  had  come  to  see  a  sick 
man  who  was  just  about  to  die  ;  but  that  to  him  there 
seemed  to  be  but  little  difference  between  himself  and 
them.  ''The  time,"  said  he,  "must  soon  come,  when 
every  man  must  turn  his  face  to  the  wall  and  die."  And 
so  it  is.  ''  What  shadows  we  are  !  What  shadows  we 
pursue ! "     And    shall   we    then   go    about    to  cause  our 


331 

hearts  to  despair,  and  say  that  all  men  were  made  in  vain? 
Shall  we  say  that  this  garniture  of  earth,  that  these  bright 
heavens  with  all  their  hosts  of  stars,  that  these  infinities 
in  the  midst  of  which  we  are  placed,  and  these  aspirations 
within  us,  were  given  but  to  mock  us  ?  Made  in  vain  ! 
Man  made  in  vain!  Speak  from  thy  rest,  disciple  of 
Jesus,  clothed  in  thy  white  robe,  and  with  the  palm  of 
victory  in  thy  hand.     Speak,  redeeming  blood  ! 


SERMON, 


DELIVERED    EEPOUE   THE  LEGISLATURE   OF    MASSACHUSETTS,   ON  THE 
AxNNIVERSARY  ELECTION, 

January  2,  1839. 


We  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than  men. — Acts  v.  29. 

Man  was  made  for  something  higher  and  better,  than 
either  to  make,  or  to  obey,  merely  human  laws.  He  is 
the  creature  of  God,  is  subject  to  his  laws,  and  can  find 
his  perfection  and  consequent  happiness  only  in  obeying 
those  laws.  As  his  moral  perfection,  the  life  of  his  life,  is 
involved  in  this  obedience,  it  is  impossible  that  any  power 
should  lay  him  under  obligation  to  disobey.  The  known 
will  of  God,  if  not  the  foundation  of  right,  is  its  par- 
amount rule,  and  it  is  because  human  governments  are 
ordained  by  him,  that  we  owe  them  obedience.  We  are 
bound  to  them,  not  by  compact,  but  only  as  God's  insti- 
tutions for  the  good  of  the  race.  This  is  what  the  Bible, 
though  sometimes  referred  to  as  supporting  arbitrary 
power,  really  teaches.  It  does  not  support  arbitrary  power. 
Rightly  understood,  it  is  a  perfect  rule  of  duty,  and  as  in 
every  thing  else,  so  in  the  relations  of  subjects  and  rulers. 
It  lays  down  the  true  principles,  it  gives  us  the  guiding 
light.     When    the    general   question    is  whether  human 


333 

goverments  are  to  be  obeyed,  the  answer  is,  He  that  "  re- 
sisteth  the  power,  resisteth  the  ordinance  of  God."  "  The 
powers  that  be,  are  ordained  of  God."  But  when  these 
powers  overstep  their  appointed  hmits,  and  would  lord  it 
over  the  conscience,  and  come  between  man  and  his 
Maker,  then  do  we  hear  it  uttered  in  the  very  face  of 
power,  and  by  the  voice  of  inspiration,  no  less  than  of 
indignant  humanity,  ''  We  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than 
men." 

It  has  been  in  connection  with  the  maintenance  of  this 
principle,  first  proclaimed  by  an  apostle  of  Christ  eighteen 
hundred  years  ago,  that  all  the  civil  liberty  now  in  the 
world  has  sprung  up.  It  is  to  the  fearless  assertion  of 
this  principle  by  our  forefathers  that  we  owe  it,  that  the 
representatives  of  a  free  people  are  assembled  here  this 
day,  to  worship  God  according  to  the  dictates  of  their  own 
consciences,  to  seek  to  Him  for  wisdom  in  their  delibera- 
tions, and  to  acknowledge  the  subordination  of  all  human 
governments  to  that  which  is  divine. 

Permit  me  then,  as  appropriate  to  the  present  occasion, 
to  call  the  attention  of  this  audience, 

First,  To  the  grounds  on  which  all  men  are  bound  to 
adhere  to  the  principle  stated  in  the  text ;  and 

Secondly,  To  the  consequences  of  such  adherence,  on 
the  part  both  of  subjects  and  of  rulers. 

I  observe,  then,  that  we  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than 
men,  because  human  governments  are  comparatively  so 
limited  and  negative  in  their  bearings  upon  the  great  pur- 
poses, first,  of  individual,  and  secondly,  of  social  ex- 
istence. 

The  purposes  for  which  man  was  made,  must  evi- 
dently involve  in  their  accomplishment  both  his  duty  and 
his  happiness ;  and  nothing  can  be  his  duty  which  would 
contravene  those  purposes.  Among  them,  as  already  inti- 
mated, the  highest  is  the  moral  perfection  of  the  individ- 


334 

ual ;  for  as  it  is  by  his  moral  nature  that  man  is  dis- 
tinguished from  the  inferior  animals,  so  it  is  only  in  the 
perfection  of  that  nature,  that  his  perfection,  as  man,  can 
consist.  As  absolute  perfection  can  belong  only  to  God, 
that  of  man  must  be  relative,  that  is,  it  must  consist  in 
the  proper  adjustment  of  relations,  and  especially  in  the 
relation  of  his  voluntary  actions  to  the  end  for  which 
God  designed  him.  This  is  our  idea  of  perfection,  when 
we  affirm  it  of  the  works  of  man.  It  involves,  mainly, 
such  a  relation  of  parts  as  is  necessary  to  the  perfect 
accomplishment  of  the  end  in  view.  A  watch  is  perfect 
when  it  is  so  constructed  that  its  motions  exactly  corres- 
pond in  their  little  revolutions  with  those  of  the  sun  in 
the  heavens ;  and  man  is  perfect  when  his  will  corres- 
ponds in  its  little  circle  of  movement  with  the  will  of 
God  in  heaven.  This  correspondence,  however,  is  not  to 
be  produced  by  the  laws  of  an  unconscious  mechanism, 
but  by  a  voluntary,  a  cheerful,  a  filial  co-operation.  It  is 
this  power  of  controlling  his  faculties  with  reference  to 
an  ultimate  end,  of  accepting  or  rejecting  the  purpose  of 
his  being,  as  indicated  by  God  in  the  very  structure  of 
his  powers,  and  proclaimed  in  his  word,  that  contra- 
distinguishes man  from  every  inferior  being,  and  gives 
scope  for  what  is  properly  termed,  character.  Inferior 
beings  have  qualities  by  which  they  are  distinguished, 
they  have  characteristics,  but  not  character ^  which  always 
involves  a  moral  element.  A  brute  does  not  govern  its 
own  instincts,  it  is  governed  by  them.  A  tree  is  the 
product  of  an  agency  which  is  put  forth  through  it,  but 
of  which  it  is  not  conscious,  and  which  it  does  not  con- 
trol. But  God  gives  man  to  himself,  and  then  sets  before 
him,  in  the  tendency  of  every  thing  that  has  unconscious 
life  towards  its  own  perfection,  the  great  moral  lesson  that 
nature  was  intended  to  teach.  He  then  causes  every 
blade  of  grass,  and  every  tree,  to  become  a  preacher  and 
a  model,  calling  upon  him  to  put  forth  his  faculties,  not 


336 

without  laAV,  but  to  accept  the  law  of  his  being,  and  to 
work  out  a  character  and  a  happiness  in  conformity  with 
that.  It  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  power  which  man  has  to 
accept  or  reject  this  law  of  his  being,  the  great  law  of 
love,  that  renders  him  capable  of  character ;  and  it  is 
evidently  as  a  theatre,  on  which  this  may  be  manifested, 
that  the  present  scene  of  things  is  sustained.  Not  with 
more  certainty  do  the  processes  of  vegetation  point  to  the 
blossoms  and  the  fruit  as  the  results  to  which  they  con- 
spire, than  does  every  thing  in  the  nature  and  condition 
of  man  indicate  the  formation  of  a  specific,  voluntary, 
moral  character,  as  the  purpose  for  which  God  placed  him 
here.  But  this  purpose  is  not  recognized  at  all  by  human 
governments,  and  we  have  only  to  observe  the  limited 
and  negative  agency  which  they  incidentally  bring  to 
bear  upon  it,  to  see  how  insignificant  must  be  their  claims 
when  they  would  come  into  conflict  with  those  of  the 
government  of  God. 

I  observe  then,  first,  that  human  governments  regard 
man  solely  as  the  member  of  a  community  ;  whereas  it  is 
chiefly  as  an  individual,  that  the  government  of  God 
regards  him.  Isolate  a  man  from  society,  take  him  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  government,  and  his  faculties  are  not 
changed.  He  is  still  the  creature  of  God,  a  dweller  in  his 
universe,  retaining  every  thing  he  ever  possessed  that  was 
noble  in  reason,  or  grand  in  destiny  ;  and  in  his  solitude, 
where  yet  he  would  not  be  alone,  the  government  of  God 
would  follow  him,  and  would  require  of  him  such  mani- 
festations of  goodness  as  he  might  there  exercise — the 
adoration  of  his  Creator,  resignation  to  his  will,  and  a 
temperate  and  prudent  use  of  the  blessings  within  his 
power.  Indeed,  so  far  as  responsibility  is  concerned,  the 
divine  government  considers  man,  whether  in  solitude  or 
in  a  crowd,  solely  as  an  individual,  and  produces  an  isola- 
tion of  each  as  complete  as  if  he  were  the  only  person  in 
the  universe.     God  knows  nothing   of  divided  responsi- 


336 

bility ;  and  whether  acting  alone,  or  as  a  member  of  a 
corporation  or  of  a  legislature,  every  man  is  responsible  to 
him  for  just  what  he  does  as  a  moral  being,  and  for  noth- 
ing more.  The  responsibility  of  each  is  kept  disentangled 
from  that  of  all  others,  and  lies  as  well  defined  in  the  eye 
of  God,  as  if  that  eye  were  fixed  upon  him  alone.  The 
kingdom  of  God  is  within  man,  and  there  it  is,  in  the 
secret  soul  of  each,  that  the  contest  between  light  and 
darkness,  between  God  and  Satan  is  going  on,  and  in  the 
struggle,  in  the  victory  or  the  defeat,  he  who  walks  the 
city  is  as  much  alone  as  the  hermit  in  his  cell.  It  is  over 
the  thoughts  of  man,  his  affections,  his  passions,  his  pur- 
poses, which  mock  at  human  control,  that  the  government 
of  God  claims  dominion  ;  it  is  with  reference  to  these,  and 
not  to  the  artificial  index  of  appearances  which  we  set  to 
catch  the  eye  of  the  world,  that  the  register  of  heaven  is 
kept.  On  the  other  hand,  how  very  few  of  the  moral 
actions  of  man  can  human  government  reach,  how  imper- 
fectly can  it  reach  even  these  !  It  is  only  of  overt  acts, 
those  which  it  can  define,  and  which  can  be  proved  before 
a  human  tribunal,  that  it  can  take  cognizance ;  and  its 
treatment  even  of  these  can  never  be  adjusted  to  the  vary- 
ing shades  of  guilt.  It  has  no  eye  to  reach  the  springs  of 
action.  It  may  see  the  movements  of  the  machinery 
above,  perplexed,  and  apparently  contradictory ;  but  it 
cannot  uncover  the  great  wheel,  and  look  in  upon  the 
simple  principle  which  makes  character,  and  sets  the 
whole  in  motion. 

But  I  observe  again,  that  human  governments  are  not 
only  thus  limited,  but  are  also  chiefly  negative  in  their 
influence  upon  the  formation  of  individual  character. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  positive  and  widely  pervading  moral 
influence  connected  with  the  character,  and  station,  and 
acts,  of  those  who  are  in  authority.  This  cannot  be  too 
prominently  stated,  the  responsibility  connected  with  it 
cannot  be  too  carefully  regarded  ;  still   this  influence  is 


337 

entirely  incidental,  and  is  the  same  in  kind  with  that 
exerted  by  any.  distinguished  private  individual.  Human 
governments  have  also  positive  power  to  furnish /ar/Z/Zies, 
as  distinguished  from  induceine7its.  They  can  authorize 
and  guard  the  issue  of  paper  money,  to  give  facilities  to 
men  of  business;  they  can  lay  down  railroads,  thus  opening 
facilities  to  the  spirit  of  enterprise,  and  calling  out  the  neg- 
lected resources  of  the  State  ;  they  can,  too,  and  our  fathers 
did  it,  construct  and  keep  in  repair  the  7'ailroads  of  the 
mindj  thus  giving  facilities  to  the  poorest  boy  in  the  glens 
of  the  mountains  to  come  out  and  be  an  honor  to  his 
country.  Still,  human  government  is  chiefly  a  system  of 
restraint  for  the  purpose  of  protection.  Its  object  is  to  give 
equal  protection  to  all  in  using  their  faculties  as  they 
please,  provided  they  do  not  interfere  with  the  rights  of 
others.  It  does  not  propose  to  furnish  inducements,  but 
to  enable  men  to  live  quiet  and  peaceable  lives,  wiiile  they 
act  in  view  of  the  great  inducements  furnished  by  the 
government  of  God. 

In  saying  this,  I  do  not  undervalue  the  benefits  confer- 
red by  human  governments,  but  only  assign  them  their 
true  place.  The  office  performed  by  them  is  indispensa- 
ble. They  are  the  inclosure  of  the  field,  without  which 
certainly  nothing  could  come  to  maturity  ;  but  they  are 
not  the  soil,  and  the  rain,  and  the  sunshine,  which  cause 
vegetation  to  spring  up.  These  are  furnished  by  the 
government  of  God,  which  is  not  only  a  system  of  re- 
straint and  protection,  but  also,  and  chiefly,  of  induce- 
ments to  excellence.  Into  the  ear  of  the  humblest  of  its 
subjects  it  whispers,  as  it  points  upward,  ''  Glory," 
'<  Honor,"  "  Immortality,"  "  Eternal  Life."  It  is  parental 
in  its  character,  makes  us  members  of  a  family,  gives  us 
objects  of  affection,  and  by  its  perfect  standard  of  moral 
excellence,  and  the  character  of  God  which  it  sets  before 
us,  it  purifies  and  elevates  the  mind.  Without  a  God  to 
whom  he  is  related  and  accountable,  man  has  neither 
43 


338 

dignity  nor  hope.  Without  God,  the  universe  has  no 
cause,  its  contrivances  indicate  no  intelligence,  its  provi- 
dence no  goodness,  its  related  parts  and  processes  no  unity, 
its  events  no  convergence  to  one  grand  result,  and  the 
glorious  spectacle  presented  in  the  earth  and  the  heavens, 
instead  of  calling  forth  admiration  and  songs,  is  an  enigma 
perplexing  to  the  intellect,  and  torturing  to  the  heart. 
Seen  in  its  connection  with  God,  the  universe  of  matter 
is  as  the  evening  cloud  that  lies  in  the  sunlight,  radiant 
and  skirted  with  glory  ;  without  him  it  is  the  same  cloud, 
cold  and  dark  when  that  sunlight  is  gone.  Without  God, 
man  is  an  orphan  ;  he  has  no  protector  here,  and  no 
Father's  house  in  which  he  may  hope  for  a  mansion  here- 
after. His  life  is  at  his  own  disposal,  and  has  no  value 
except  in  relation  to  his  personal  and  present  enjoyment. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  the  idea  of  God  is  received,  and 
his  relations  to  the  universe  are  intimately  felt,  unity  and 
harmony  are  introduced  into  our  conceptions  of  that  which 
is  without,  and  acquiescence  and  hope  reign  within. 
Nature,  as  more  significant,  becomes  more  a  companion. 
Her  quiet  teachings  and  mute  prophecies,  her  indexes 
pointing  to  the  spirit  land,  instead  of  being  felt  as  a  mock- 
ery, are  in  accordance  with  the  best  hopes,  and  the 
revealed  destiny  of  man.  Life,  too,  assumes  a  new 
aspect.  A  common  destiny  is  set  before  all,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  it  runs  as  a  thread  of  sympathy  throngh  the 
race.  The  poor  man  is  elevated  when  he  sees  that  the 
principle  of  duty  may  be  tried  and  strengthened  in  his 
humble  sphere,  as  well  as  in  those  that  are  higher,  and 
his  labor  becomes  a  cheerful  service,  done  with  good  will 
from  the  heart.  Every  duty  to  man  becomes  doubly 
sacred  as  due  also  to  Gad,  and  the  humblest  life,  pursued 
from  a  conscientious  regard  to  his  will,  is  invested  with 
an  unspeakable  dignity.  It  is  indeed,  I  may  remark,  this 
view  of  life  that  furnishes  the  only  possible  ground  of 
equality.     Men  are   upon  an    equality   only  as  they  are 


339 

equally  upon  trial  in  the  sight  of  God  ;  and  nothing  will 
ever  reconcile  them  to  the  unavoidable  inequalities  of  the 
present  state,  but  the  consciousness  that  their  circum- 
stances were  allotted  to  them  by  Him  who  best  knew 
what  trials  they  would  need,  and  whose  equal  eye  regards 
solely  the  degree  in  which  their  moral  nature  is  improved 
by  the  trial.  When  this  is  felt,  there  is,  under  all  circum- 
stances, a  basis  for  dignity  without  pride,  for  activity 
without  restlessness,  for  diversity  of  condition  without 
discord. 

And  not  only  the  aspect  of  life  in  the  relations  of  men 
to  each  other,  but  its  end  also  is  changed.  The  moral 
nature  assumes  its  true  position,  and,  acting  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  perfect  law  as  its  standard,  and  of  a  perfect  gos- 
pel as  its  ground  of  hope,  the  idea  of  true  liberty  dawns 
upon  the  mind.  This  consists  in  the  coincidence  of  the 
affections  and  inclinations  with  correct  principle.  It  is 
only  when  the  internal  constitution  of  a  reasonable  being 
is  in  harmony  with  the  law  under  which  he  acts,  that  he 
is  conscious  of  no  restraint,  and  knows  what  true  freedom 
is.  The  chief  value  of  what  is  commonly  called  liberty, 
consists  in  the  opportunity  it  gives  to  use  our  faculties 
without  molestation  for  the  attainment  of  ^this.  This  is 
that  glorious  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God,  of  which  the 
Scriptures  speak.  It  is  not  a  mere  freedom  from  restraint, 
which  may  be  abused  for  the  purposes  of  wrong-doing  and 
become  a  curse  ;  merely  making  the  difference  between  a 
brute  enclosed  and  a  brute  at  large  ;  but  it  is,  in  its  com- 
mencement, the  resolute  adoption  of  the  law  of  conscience 
and  of  God  as  the  rule  of  life  ;  in  its  progress,  a  successful 
struggle  with  whatever  opposes  this  law  ,•  in  its  comple- 
tion, the  harmonious  and  joyful  action  of  every  power  in 
its  fulfilment.  This  is  the  only  liberty  known  under  the 
government  of  God.  He  who  knows  it  not  is  the  slave 
of  sin.  He  who  struggles  not  for  it  is  in  a  contented 
bondage,  of  which  physical  slavery  is  but  a  feeble  type. 


340 

The  perfection  of  this  liberty  is  only  another  name  for 
moral  perfection,  which,  as  I  have  said,  is  the  great  end  of 
the  individual ;  and  as  the  direct  motives  and  means  for 
the  attainment  of  this  are  furnished  only  by  the  govern- 
ment of  God,  it  is  evident  that  "  we  ought  to  obey  God 
rather  than  men." 

Having  thus  spoken  of  the  effect  of  human  government 
upon  man  in  his  individual  character,  I  now  proceed  to 
inquire,  whether  it  is  equally  limited  and  negative  in  its 
bearing  upon  him  in  his  social  condition. 

And  here  I  remark,  that  it  is  only  incidentally  that 
human  government  is  necessary  to  man  as  a  social  being 
at  all.  Society  was  before  government ;  and  if  man 
had  retained  his  original  state,  it  might,  perhaps,  have 
existed  without  it  till  the  end  of  time.  Man  is  constituted 
by  his  Creator  a  social  being  ;  he  has  faculties,  to  the 
expansion  and  perfection  of  which  society  is  requisite  ; 
but  he  has  no  faculties  the  necessities  of  which  constitute 
him  a  political  being.  There  must  be  politicians,  just  as 
there  must  be  farmers,  and  merchants,  and  physicians, 
that  they  and  others  may  enjoy  social  life;  but  social  life 
is  corrupted  when  politics  enter  largely  into  it.  It  is  not 
sufficiently  noticed,  that  it  is  through  social  institutions 
and  habits,  far  more  than  through  political  forms,  that  the 
happiness  or  misery  of  man  is  produced.  It  was  not  from 
the  oppressions  of  the  government,  but  from  a  corrupted 
social  state,  that  the  prophet  of  old  wished  to  flee  into  the 
wilderness.  It  was  because  his  people  were  all  adulterers, 
an  assembly  of  treacherous  men,  because  every  brother 
would  supplant,  and  every  neighbor  would  walk  with 
slanders.  Such  a  state  of  things  may  exist  under  any  form 
of  political  organization.  It  may  exist  under  ours.  Men 
may  be  loud  in  their  praise  of  republican  forms,  and  yet 
be  false,  and  unkind,  and  litigious  ;  they  maybe  indolent, 
and  profane,  and  Sabbath-breakers,  and  gamblers,  and 
licentious,   and   intemperate.      Yes,    and   there   may   be 


341 

neighborhoods  of  such  men,  and  the  place  where  they 
assemble  nightly,  hard  by  a  banner  that  creaks  in  the 
wind,  may  be  the  liveliest  image  of  hell  that  this  earth 
can  present.  1  certainly  know,  and  my  hearers  are  fortu- 
nate if  they  do  not  know,  neighborhoods  in  this  land  of 
liberty  and  equality,  where  the  only  use  made  of  liberty 
is  to  render  families  and  society  wretched,  and  where  the 
only  equality  is  an  equality  in  vice  and  social  degradation, 
which  no  man  is  permitted  even  to  attempt  to  rise  above 
without  constant  annoyance.  Better,  far  better,  is  family 
aftection  and  kind  neighborhood  under  a  regal  or  even  a 
despotic  government,  than  such  liberty  as  this. 

Government  then  is  not  an  end,  but  a  means.  Society 
is  the  end,  and  government  should  be  the  agent  of  society, 
to  benefit  man  in  his  social  condition.  The  extent  to 
which  it  can  do  this  will  depend  on  its  form,  and  the 
power  with  which  it  is  intrusted.  Absolute  power, 
which  should  be  used  for  this  purpose,  is  generally 
abused.  Considering  itself  as  having  interests  distinct 
from  those  of  the  people,  it  too  often  seeks  to  keep  them 
in  a  state  of  degradation,  and  to  appropriate  to  itself  the 
largest  possible  share  of  those  blessings  which  ought  to 
be  equally  diffused.  "  Get  out  of  my  sunlight,"  said 
Diogenes  to  Alexander  the  Great :  "  Get  out  of  my  sun- 
light,"— cease  to  obstruct  the  free  circulation  of  blessings 
intended  for  all, — might  the  people  say  under  any  arbitrary 
form  of  government  ever  yet  administered.  Still,  such  a 
government,  when  under  the  direction  of  wisdom  and 
benevolence,  has  power  to  produce  great  social  and  moral 
revolutions  for  the  good  of  mankind.  Such  a  revolution 
was  commenced  by  Peter  the  Great,  and  his  measures, 
though  necessary,  were  such  as  none  but  an  absolute 
monarch  could  have  adopted.  Aside  from  Christianity, 
the  judicious  exercise  of  such  a  power  is  the  only  hope 
of  a  people  debased  beyond  a  certain  point.  The  king  of 
Prussia  can  maintain  a  better  and  more  efficient  system  of 


342 

schools,  than  any  republican  government.  He  can  pro- 
vide qualified  teachers,  and  can  compel  the  children  to 
attend. 

But  when,  as  in  this  country,  government  is  the  direct 
agent  of  society,  when  it  is  so  far  controlled  by  the 
people  as  to  secure  the  majority  at  least  from  oppression, 
being  merely  an  expression  of  the  will  of  that  majority, 
it  can  have  no  power  to  produce  moral  and  social  refor- 
mations. Laws  do  not  execute  themselves,  and  in  such 
a  state  of  things  they  cannot  be  effectually  executed  if 
the  violation  of  them  is  upheld  by  public  sentiment.  In 
such  a  case,  when  vices  begin  to  creep  in,  and  the  ten- 
dency of  things  is.  downwards,  we  nuist  have  a  force 
different  from  that  of  the  government ;  we  must  have 
Qiioral  power.  Here  religion  comes  in,  and  must  come  in, 
or  '^  the  beginning  of  the  end  "  has  come.  The  intellect 
must  be  enlightened,  and  the  conscience  quickened,  and 
moral  life  infused  mto  the  mass  ;  the  good  and  the  evil 
must  commiiigle  in  free  conflict,  and  public  sentiment 
must  be  changed.  When  this  is  done,  when  patriotism, 
and  philanthropy,  and  religion,  have  caused  an  ebb-tide 
in  the  flood  of  evil  that  was  coming  up  over  the  land, 
then  government  may  come  in,  not  to  carry  forward  a 
moral  reformation  by  force,  but  to  erect  a  barrier  against 
the  return  of  that  tide.  It  can  secure  what  these  agents 
have  gained.  It  can  put  a  shield  into  the  hands  of  soci- 
ety, with  which  it  can,  if  it  pleases,  protect  itself  against 
that  selfishness  and  malignity  which  always  lurk  in  its 
borders,  and  which  moral  influence  cannot  reach.  If,  for 
example,  polygamy  were  established  among  us  as  it  is 
among  the  Turks,  a  government  like  ours  could  do  noth- 
ing for  its  removal.  But  religion  could  awaken  a  sense 
of  obligation,  and  statistics  could  point  out  the  number  of 
poor  women  and  uneducated  children  thrown  by  it  for 
support  mainly  upon  those  who  had  pledged  themselves 
to  be  the  husband  of  one  wife,  and  Christian  and  philan- 


343 

thropic  effort  might  show  that  it  was  injurious  to  individ- 
uals, and  families,  and  the  state  ;  and  then  a  law  might 
be  passed,  as  there  has  been,  to  defend  society  against 
this  evil. 

This  inefRcacy  of  our  government  to  produce  moral 
and  social  reformations  should  be  well  understood,  be- 
cause it  throws  the  fearful  responsibility  of  maintaining 
our  institutions  directly  upon  the  people,  where  it  must 
rest.  A  government  originating  in  society,  can  have  but 
slight  ground  to  stand  on  in  resisting  its  downward  ten- 
dency. That  there  is  in  society  such  a  tendency,  all  his- 
tory shows.  As  nations  have  become  older,  they  have 
invariably  become  more  corrupt.  They  have  never 
reached  that  point  in  general  morality  at  which  men 
cease  to  corrupt  each  other  by  associating  together.  Such 
a  tendency,  not  counteracted,  must  be  fatal  to  republican 
governments,  for  republican  government  is  self-govern- 
ment, and  as  the  internal  law  becomes  feeble,  external 
force  must  be  increased ;  and  accordingly  we  find  that 
every  people  hitherto,  have  either  been  under  regal  power 
from  the  beginning,  or  have,  in  time,  reached  a  point  in 
corruption  when  that  power  became  necessary.  Republi- 
can government,  then,  is  not  so  much  the  cause  of  a  good 
social  state,  as  its  sign.  It  can  never  be  borne  up,  with  its 
stars  and  stripes  floating,  upon  the  surface  of  a  society 
that  is  not  strongly  impregnated  with  virtue.  Take  this 
away,  and  it  goes  down  by  its  own  weight,  and  the  beast 
of  tyranny,  with  its  seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  comes  up 
out  of  the  troubled  waters.  Here  is  the  turning  point 
with  us.  All  depends  upon  the  influences  that  go  to  form 
the  character  of  our  people.  Those  who  control  these 
influences  will  really  govern  the  country.  To  this  point 
we  turn  our  eyes  anxiously.  At  this  point  we  look  to 
legislators  to  stand  in  their  lot,  and  do  what  is  appropriate 
to  their  station.  At  this  point  we  look  especially  to 
fathers  and   mothers,  the   guardians  of  domestic   virtue. 


344 

Those  waters  will  be  sweet  that  are  fed  by  sweet  springs. 
We  look  to  Christian  ministers,  to  enlightened  teachers, 
to  patriotic  authors  and  editors,  to  every  good  citizen. 
If  there  ever  was  a  country  in  which  all  these  were  called 
upon  to  do  their  utmost,  this  is  that  country  ;  if  there 
ever  was  a  government  that  was  called  upon  to  second  in 
every  proper  way  the  efforts  of  these,  this  is  that  govern- 
ment. To  all  these  we  look ;  but  our  trust  is  only  in  the 
influences  they  may  bring  to  bear  from  the  blessed  gospel 
of  Christ,  from  the  government  of  God.  "  We  ought  to 
obey  God  rather  than  men." 

I  have  thus  shown,  as  fully  as  the  time  would  permit, 
though  far  too  briefly  to  do  justice  to  the  subject,  the 
grounds  on  which  we  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than  men. 
These  are  to  be  found  in  the  relation  of  the  divine  and  of 
human  government  respectively,  to  the  ends  of  individual 
and  of  social  existence.  But  the  occasion  on  which  the 
text  was  uttered,  a  subject"  having  directly  refused  obe- 
dience to  rulers  lawfully  constituted,  will  lead  us  to  con- 
sider the  effects  of  the  principle  of  the  text,  when  acted 
upon  by  men  in  those  relations  in  which  civil  liberty  is 
directly  involved — in  the  relations  of  subjects  and  of 
rulers.  What  then  will  be  the  efl^ect  of  an  adherence  to 
this  principle  on  the  part  of  subjects,  as  such? 

There  is  a  tendency  in  irresponsible  power  to  accumu- 
late. It  first  gains  control  over  property,  and  life,  and 
every  thing  from  which  a  motive  to  resistance,  based  on 
the  interests  of  the  present  life,  could  be  drawn.  But  it 
is  not  satisfied  with  this.  Nothing  avails  it  so  long  as 
there  is  a  Mordecai,  sitting  at  the  king's  gate,  that  does 
not  rise  up  and  do  it  reverence.  It  must  also  control  the 
conscience,  and  make  the  religious  nature  subservient  to 
its  purposes.  Accordingly,  the  grand  device  of  the  ene- 
mies of  civil  liberty  has  been,  so  to  incorporate  religion 
with  the  government,  that  all  those  deep  and  ineradicable 


345 

feelings  which  are  associated  with  the  one,  should  also  be 
associated  with  the  other,  and  that  he  who  opposed  the 
government,  should  not  only  bring  upon  himself  the  arm 
of  the  civil  power,  but  also  the  fury  of  religious  zeal. 
The  most  melancholy  and  heart-sickening  chapter  in  the 
history  of  man,  is  that  in  which  are  recorded  the  enormi- 
ties committed  by  a  lust  of  power,  and  by  malignity,  in 
alliance  with  a  perverted  religious  sentiment.  The  light 
that  was  in  men  has  become  darkness,  and  that  darkness 
has  been  great.  The  very  instrument  appointed  by  God 
for  the  deliverance  and  elevation  of  man,  has  been  made 
to  assist  in  his  thraldom  and  degradation.  When  Chris- 
tianity appeared,  the  alliance  of  religion  with  oppressive 
power  was  universal.  In  such  a  state  of  things,  there 
seemed  no  hope  for  civil  liberty  but  in  bringing  the  con- 
science out  from  this  unholy  alliance,  and  putting  it  in  a 
position  in  which  it  must  show  its  energies  in  opposition 
to  power.  This  Christianity  did.  It  brought  the  con- 
science to  a  point  where  it  not  only  might  resist  human 
governments,  but  where,  as  they  were  then  exercised,  it 
was  compelled  to  resist  them.  This  appeared  when  the 
text  was  uttered,  and  there  was  then  a  rock  raised  in  the 
ocean  of  tyranny  which  has  not  been  overflowed  to  this 
day.  The  same  qualities  which  make  the  conscience  so 
potent  an  ally  of  power,  must,  when  it  is  enlightened  by 
a  true  knowledge  of  God  and  of  duty,  and  when  immor- 
tality is  clearly  set  before  the  mind,  make  it  the  most  for- 
midable of  all  barriers  to  tyranny  and  oppression. 

By  thus  bringing  the  moral  nature  of  man  to  act  in  op- 
position to  power,  and  by  giving  him  light,  and  strength, 
and  foothold,  to  enable  him  to  sustain  that  opposition, 
Christianity  has  done  an  inestimable  service,  and  has 
placed  humanity  at  the  only  point  where  its  highest  gran- 
deur appears.  At  this  point,  sustained  by  principle,  and 
often  in  the  person  of  the  humblest  individual,  it  bids 
defiance  to  all  the  malice  of  men  to  wrest  from  it  its  true 
44 


346 

liberty.  It  bids  tyranny  do  its  worst,  and,  though  its 
ashes  may  be  scattered  to  the  winds,  it  leaves  its  startling 
testimony,  and  the  inspiration  of  its  great  example,  to 
coming  times.  The  power  to  do  this,  Christianity  alone 
can  give.  No  other  religion  has  ever  so  demonstrated  its 
evidences  to  the  senses,  and  caused  its  adaptations  to  the 
innermost  wants  of  the  soul  to  be  felt,  as  to  enable  man 
to  stand  alone  against  the  influence  of  whatever  was  dear 
in  affection,  and  flattering  in  promises,  and  fearful  in  tor- 
ture. Other  religions  have  had  their  victims,  who  have 
been  led,  amidst  the  plaudits  of  surrounding  multitudes, 
to  throw  themselves  under  the  wheels  of  a  system  already 
established ;  but  not  their  marUjrs,  who,  when  duty  has 
permitted  it,  have  fled  to  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains, 
and,  when  it  has  not,  have  stood  upon  their  rights  and 
contested  every  inch  of  ground,  and  met  death  soberly  and 
firmly  only  when  it  was  necessary.  When  this  has  been 
done  by  multitudes,  it  has  caused  power  to  respect  the 
individual,  to  respect  humanity ;  and  while  Christianity 
was  wading  through  the  blood  of  ten  persecutions,  it 
was  fighting,  more  effectually  than  had  ever  been  done 
before,  the  battles  of  civil  liberty.  The  call  to  obey  God 
rather  than  men  met  with  a  response,  and  it  is  upon  this 
ground  that  the  battle  has  been  opened  in  every  case  in 
which  civil  liberty  now  exists.  It  is  upon  this  ground 
alone  that  it  can  be  maintained. 

I  deem  it  of  great  importance  that  this  point  should  be 
fully  and  often  presented,  because  it  is  vital,  and  because 
there  are  constant  attempts  made  to  obscure  it.  What- 
ever elevates  the  individual,  whatever  gives  him  worth  in 
his  own  estimation  and  that  of  others,  whatever  invests 
him  with  moral  dignity,  must  be  favorable  both  to  pure 
morality  and  to  civil  liberty.  Hence  it  is  that  these  are 
both  incidental  results  of  Christianity.  They  are  not  the 
gifts  which  she  came  to  bestow,— these  are  life  and 
immortality.     They  are  not  the  white  raiment  in  which 


347 

her  followers  are  to  walk  in  the  upper  temple  ;  but  they 
are  the  earthly  garments  with  which  she  would  clothe 
the  nations ;  they  are  the  brightness  which  she  leaves  in 
her  train  as  she  moves  on  towards  heaven,  and  calls  on 
men  to  follow  her  there.  These  belong  to  her  alone. 
Infidels  may  filch  her  morality,  as  they  have  often  done, 
and  then  boast  of  their  discoveries.  But  in  their  hands 
that  morality  is  lopped  off  from  the  body  of  faith  on 
which  it  grew,  and  produces  no  fruit.  They  may  boast, 
as  they  do,  of  a  liberty  which  they  never  could  have 
achieved.  But  under  its  protection  they  advance  doc- 
trines and  advocate  practices  which  would  corrupt  it  into 
license.  Their  only  strength  lies  in  endeavoring,  in  the 
sacred  name  of  liberty,  to  corrupt  the  virtuous,  and  to 
excite  the  hatred  of  the  vicious  against  those  restraints 
without  which  liberty  cannot  exist  and  society  has  no 
ground  of  security.  ''  Promising  Hberty  to  others,  they 
are  themselves  the  servants  of  corruption."  Liberty  can- 
not exist  without  morality,  nor  general  morality  without 
a  pure  religion. 

The  doctrine  thus  stated  is  fully  confirmed  by  history. 
The  reformation  by  Luther  was  made  on  strictly  reli- 
gious grounds.  He  found  an  opposition  between  the 
-decrees  of  the  Pope  and  the  commands  of  God  ;  and  it 
was  the  simple  purpose,  resolutely  adhered  to,  to  obey 
Ood  rather  than  men,  that  caused  Europe  to  rock  to  its 
centre.  In  the  train  of  this  religious  reformation  civil 
liberty  followed,  but  became  settled  and  valuable  only  as 
religious  liberty  was  perfected.  It  was  every  where  on 
the  ground  of  conscience  towards  God  that  the  first  stand 
was  taken,  and  in  those  countries  where  the  struggle  for 
religious  liberty  commenced  but  did  not  succeed,  as  in 
Spain  and  Italy,  civil  liberty  has  found  no  resting  place 
for  the  sole  of  her  foot  to  this  day.  It  is  conceded  even 
by  Hume,  that  England  owes  her  civil  liberty  to  the 
Puritans  ;  and  the  history  of  the  settlement  and  progress 


348 

of  this  country,  as  a  splendid  exemplification  of  the  prin- 
ciple in  question,  needs  but  to  be  mentioned  here. 

In  speaking  thus  of  the  resistance  of  Christian  subjects 
to  the  government,  perhaps  I  should  guard  against  being 
misunderstood.  In  no  case  can  it  be  a  factious  resist- 
ance. It  cannot  be  stimulated  by  any  of  the  ordinary 
motives  to  such  resistance — by  discontent,  or  passion,  or 
ambition,  or  a  love  of  gain.  In  no  case  can  it  show 
itself  in  the  disorganizing,  the  aggressive,  and,  in  a  free 
government,  the  suicidal  spirit  of  mobs.  Christians  have 
in  their  eye  a  grand  and  a  holy  object,  and  all  they  wish 
is  to  go  forward,  without  violating  the  rights  of  others,  to 
its  attainment.  In  so  doing  they  set  themselves  in  oppo- 
sition to  nobody,  but  merely  exercise  an  inalienable  right, 
and  if  others  oppose  them,  they  must  still  go  forward  and 
obey  God,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may. 

We  will  now  consider,  as  was  proposed,  the  efiect  of 
an  adherence  to  the  principle  of  the  text  on  the  part  of 
rulers.  This  becomes  appropriate  from  the  peculiar  form 
of  our  government,  and  the  relation  which  the  rulers  hold 
to  the  people.  Rulers  have  indeed,  in  all  countries,  need 
to  be  exhorted  to  obey  God  ;  but  when  their  will  is 
supreme,  and  their  power  is  independent  of  the  people, 
there  can  be  no  propriety  in  exhorting  them  to  obey  God 
rather  than  men.  In  this  country,  however,  this  princi- 
ple needs  to  be  enforced  upon  legislators  and  rulers  quite 
as  much  as  upon  the  people,  perhaps  even  more.  It  is  at 
this  point,  if  I  mistake  not,  that  we  are  to  look  for  the 
danger  peculiar  to  our  institutions  through  those  in 
authority.  In  other  countries  the  danger  is  from  the 
accumulation  and  tyrannical  use  of  power.  With  us, 
limited  as  is  the  tenure  of  office,  there  is  little  danger  of 
direct  oppression.  The  danger  is  that  those  who  are  in 
office,  and  those  who  wish  for  it,  will,  for  the  sake  of 
immediate  populai'ity,  lend  the  sanction  of  their  names  to 


349 

doctrines  and  practices,  which,  if  carried  into  effect,  must 
destroy  all  government.  How  is  it  else  that  mobs  should 
often  escape  with  so  little  rebuke  ?  How  is  it  else  that 
we  hear  such  extravagant  and  disorganizing  doctrines 
maintained  in  regard  to  the  rights  of  a  majority  respect- 
ing property,  and  their  power  to  set  aside  any  guaran- 
ties of  former  Legislatures  ?  Certainly  the  people  are 
the  fountain  of  power  ;  they  establish  the  government, 
they  have  a  right  to  alter  it ;  but  when  it  is  established, 
the  state  becomes  personified  through  it,  and  its  acts  are 
to  be  consistent.  When  it  is  established,  it  is  a  govern- 
ment, it  has  authority,  it  becomes  God's  institution,  and 
those  who  administer  it  are  to  obey  God  rather  than  men. 
Wo  to  this  country,  when  the  people  shall  become,  to 
those  in  place,  the  object  of  adulation  and  of  an  affected 
idolatry.  Wo  to  this  country,  when  the  people  shall 
cease  to  reverence  the  government  as  the  institution  of 
God,  because  it  is  established  through  them ;  when  they 
shall  suppose  that  it  is  in  such  a  sense  theirs,  that  they 
can  supersede  its  acts  in  any  way  except  by  constitutional 
forms. 

There  is  also  another  reason  why  the  principle  of  the 
text  ought  to  be  especially  regarded  by  the  rulers  of  this 
country.  So  far  as  a  nation  can  be  considered  and  treated 
as  a  moral  person,  its  character  must  be  indicated  by  the 
acts  of  its  rulers.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  under  every 
form  of  government,  God  has  made  nations  responsible,  as 
in  the  natural  course  of  things  they  evidently  must  be,  for 
what  is  done  by  their  rulers.  But  if  this  is  so  in  monar- 
chical governments,  where  the  agency  of  the  people  is  so 
little  connected  with  public  acts,  much  more  must  it  be 
so  in  one  like  ours.  Here  the  rulers  represent  the  people 
more  immediately.  They  indicate,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  the  moral  condition  of  the  people,  and  hence 
the  peculiar  responsibility  of  those  who  act  under  the 
oath  of  God  in  making  and  administering  the  laws  of 


350 

a  representative  government.  If  it  can  ever  be  required 
of  God  to  vindicate  his  administration  by  the  treatment  of 
any  people,  it  must  be  of  one  whose  government  is  thus 
administered. 

I  observe  then  that  the  principle  of  the  text  should  be 
adopted  by  rulers,  because  it  furnishes  the  only  broad  and 
safe  basis  of  political  action.  .The  adoption  of  this  prin- 
ciple I  consider  the  first  requisite  of  a  wise,  in  opposition 
to  a  cunning  and  temporizing  statesman.  Statesmanship, 
as  distinguished  from  that  skilful  combination  of  measures 
which  has  for  its  object  personal  advancement,  consists 
very  much  in  a  perception  of  the  connection  there  is 
between  the  prosperity  of  states,  and  the  accordance  of 
their  laws  and  social  institutions  with  the  laws  of  justice, 
and  benevolence,  and  temperance,  which  are  the  laws  of 
God.  The  laws  of  God  are  uniform.  The  general  ten- 
dencies which  he  has  inwrought  into  the  system  will  take 
effect,  and  nothing,  not  shaped  in  accordance  with  these, 
can  stand.  Now  it  is  an  attempt  to  evade  the  effect  of 
these  tendencies,  by  expedients  in  particular  instances  and 
for  the  sake  of  particular  ends,  that  has  been  called  states- 
manship ;  while  he  only  is  the  true  statesman  who  sees 
what  these  tendencies  are,  and  shapes  his  laws  and  insti- 
tutions in  accordance  with  them.  The  mere  politician,  if 
I  may  so  designate  him,  perceives  the  movements  which 
take  place  in  the  different  parts  of  society  relatively  to 
each  other,  and  is  complacently  skilful  in  adjusting  them 
to  his  purposes  ;  but  he  fails  to  see  that  general  move- 
ment by  which  the  whole  is  drifted  on  together,  and 
which  is  bearing  society  to  a  point  where  elements  that 
he  had  not  dreamed  of  will  be  called  into  action,  and 
where  his  petty  expedients  will  become,  in  a  moment,  but 
as  the  barriers  of  sand  which  the  child  raises  upon  the 
beach,  when  the  tide  begins  to  rise. 

''  I  tremble  for  my  country,"  said  an  American  states- 
man, in  a  sentence,  which,  though  awfully  ominous  in 


351 

the  connection  in  which  it  was  uttered,  does  equal  honor 
to  his  head  and  his  heart,  "  I  tremble  for  my  country 
when  I  remember  that  God  is  just."  In  that  sentence  are 
involved  the  principles  of  that  higher  statesmanship,  before 
which  the  expedients  of  merely  expert  men  dwindle  into 
nothing.  He  knew  not  how,  or  where,  or  when,  the  blow 
might  fall ;  but  he  knew  that  there  was  always  a  joint  in 
the  harness  of  injustice,  where  the  arrow  of  retribution, 
though  it  might  seem  to  be  speeding  at  a  venture,  would 
surely  find  its  way.  The  higher  movements  of  divine 
Providence  include  the  lower.  Sooner  or  later  all  par- 
ticular, and  for  a  time  apparently  anomalous  cases  are 
brought  under  its  general  rules  ;  and  he  has  read  the  his- 
tory of  the  past  with  little  benefit,  who  has  failed  to  see 
how  the  giant  machinery  of  that  Providence,  in  the  inter- 
mediate spaces  of  which  there  is  ample  room  for  the  free 
play  of  human  agency,  takes  up  the  results  of  that 
agency  as  they  are  wrought  out,  and  applies  them  to  the 
execution  of  its  own  uniform  laws,  and  the  accomplish- 
ment of  its  own  predicted  purposes.  These  purposes,  as 
declared  by  those  divine  records  whose  prophecies  have 
now  become  history,  were  often  such  as  no  human  saga- 
city, looking  merely  at  second  causes,  could  have  antici- 
pated, such  as  no  human  power  then  existing  could  have 
efiected.  Still,  they  were  wrought  out  in  conformity 
with  that  higher,  and  uniform,  and  all-encompassing 
movement,  with  reference  to  which  he  who  stands  at  the 
helm  should  guide  the  state,  but  to  ascertain  which,  he 
must  not  take  his  bearings  from  the  shifting  headlands  of 
circumstances,  but  must  lift  his  eye  to  those  eternal  prin- 
ciples which  abide  ever  the  same. 

On  this  subject  there  is  written  upon  the  walls  of  the 
past  a  lesson  for  statesmen  that  needs  no  interpreter.  Look 
at  Babylon.  Who  is  it  that  stands  before  its  walls  and 
utters  its  doom  ?  It  is  a  despised  Jew.  And  who  is  he 
that  walks  in  pride  upon  these  walls,  and  as  he  points 


352 

to  that  mighty  city  as  the  centre  of  civilization  and  power, 
as  combining  every  advantage   of  climate  and  of  com- 
merce, mocks  at  that  doom  ?     It  is  a  politician  of  those 
days.     The  voice  of  the  prophet  is  uttered,  and  it  seems 
to  pass  idly  upon  the  wind.     The  eye  of  sense  sees  no 
effect.     No  clouds  gather,   no  lightnings  descend.     But 
that  voice  was  not  in  vain.     The  waters  of  desolation 
heard  it  in  their  distant  caves,  and  never  ceased  to  rise  till 
they  had  whelmed  palace  and  tower  and  temple  in  one 
undistinguished  ruin.     Even  now  that  voice  abides  there, 
and  hangs  as  a  spirit  of  the  air  over  that  desolation  ;  and 
the  Arabian  hears  it,  warning  him  not  to  pitch  his  tent 
there ;  and  the  wild  beast  of  the  desert  and  the  owl  and 
the  satyr  hear  it,  and  come  up  and  dwell  and  dance  there. 
Look  at  Jerusalem.     Who  is  he  that  stands  upon  Mount 
Olivet  and  weeps  as  he  looks  upon  the  city,  and  assigns, 
as  the  cause  of  his  tears,  that  he  would  often  have  gath- 
ered her  children  together  as  a  hen  gathereth  her  chickens 
under  her  wings,  but  she  would  not  ?     Ah  !  what  political 
Jew  would  have  thought  of  that  !     He  would  have  turned 
his  attention  to  the  purposes  of  governors  and  the  intrigues 
of  courts.     Into  his  estimate  of  the  causes  that  might  affect 
the  prosperity  of  Jerusalem,  the  moral  temper  of  the  nation, 
as  indicated  by  its  rejection  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  would 
not  have  entered.     And  yet,  it  was  from  this  rejection, 
even  in  the  way  of  natural  consequence,  from  the  want  of 
those  moral  qualities  which  only  a  regard  to  his  teachings 
could  have  produced  among  them,  that  the  destruction  of 
the  Jews  resulted.     Nothing  else  could  have  destroyed 
their  foolhardy  confidence  in  God,  or  have  allayed  those 
fiendish  passions  which  led  contending  factions  to  fill  the 
streets  of  the  city  with  dead  bodies  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  siege.      But  they  would  not  have  his  spirit ;  they 
would  not  have  him  to  reign  over  them  ;  and  we  know 
that  from  the  moment  the  words  dropped  from  his  lips, 
"  Your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate,"  that  was  a  doomed 


S5S 

city,  and  no  political  skill  could  have  deferred  the  horrors 
of  a  siege  and  of  a  final  overthrow,  such  as  was  not  from 
the  beginning  of  the  world,  no,  nor  ever  shall  be.  And 
not  only  from  Babylon  and  Jerusalem,  but  from  the  grave 
of  every  nation  buried  in  antiquity,  from  Nineveh,  and 
Tyre,  and  Edom,  and  Egypt,  there  comes  a  voice  calling 
upon  rulers  to  be  ''just,  ruling  in  the  fear  of  God."  The 
true  cause  of  their  destruction  was  the  attitude  which 
they  assumed  towards  the  will,  and  worship,  and  people 
of  God. 

It  is  from  these  moral  causes,  between  which  and  the 
result  there  is  no  immediate,  nor,  to  the  superficial  eye, 
perceptible  connection,  that  I  fear  most  for  the  stability  of 
our  institutions.  It  is  when  the  sun  is  shining  most 
brightly,  and  the  face  of  the  sky  shows,  it  may  be,  not  a 
single  cloud,  that  the  elements  of  the  tornado  are  ascend- 
ing most  rapidly ;  and  it  is  when  men  are  in  prosperity 
and  in  fancied  security  that  they  become  presumptuous, 
and  that  a  disastrous  train  of  causes  is  silently  put  in 
motion,  as  resistless  as  the  tornado.  Upon  this  point  of 
security  the  eye  of  the  true  statesman  is  fixed.  It  is  here 
that  he  sees  the  danger  and  provides  against  it  ;  while  the 
mere  politician  knows  nothing,  and  sees  nothing,  till  he 
begins,  when  it  is  too  late,  to  see  the  lightnings  and  hear 
the  thunders  of  embodied  wrath. 

Can  then  the  rulers  of  this  country,  in  disregard  of  the 
warnings  of  all  past  time,  with  a  full  understanding  of  the 
claims  and  of  the  controlling  agency  of  the  great  moral 
principles  of  God's  government,  go  on  in  obedience  to 
men  rather  than  God,  and  make  laws  in  disregard  or  defi- 
ance of  his  will  ?  If  so,  then,  from  the  reciprocal  influ- 
ence of  rulers  and  people,  our  experiment  of  self-govern- 
ment would  seem  to  be  hopeless.  Then  must  God 
scourge  this  people  as  he  has  scourged  others.  Then  are 
the  untoward  symptoms  of  the  present  time  but  as  the 
white  spot  that  shows  the  leprosy.  Then  will  the  altar 
45 


354 

of  liberty  decay,  and  the  fire  upon  it  will  go  out,  and 
there  will  be  heard  by  those  who  watch  in  her  temple,  as 
of  old  in  the  desecrated  temple  of  God,  the  voice  of  its 
presiding  spirit,  saying,  '^  Let  us  go  hence ;  "  and  that 
temple,  towards  which  the  eyes  of  the  nations  were  turned 
with  hope,  shall  become  the  haunt  of  every  unclean  thing, 
and  shall  only  wait  the  hand  of  violence  to  leave  not  one 
stone  upon  another  that  shall  not  be  thrown  down.  In 
view  of  such  consequences,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the 
solemn  words  of  our  Saviour  are  as  applicable  to  legislators 
and  rulers  in  their  public  as  in  their  private  capacity. 
"And  1  say  unto  you,  my  friends,  be  not  afraid  of  them 
that  kill  the  body,  and  after  that  have  no  more  that  they 
can  do.  But  I  will  forewarn  you  whom  ye  shall  fear  : 
Fear  him  which,  after  he  hath  killed,  hath  power  to  cast 
into  hell ;  yea,  1  say  unto  you.  Fear  him." 

To  His  Excellency  the  Governor,  these  sentiments  are 
addressed,  as  putting  him  in  remembrance,  as  he  stands 
upon  the  threshold  of  a  new  official  year,  of  that  which 
ought  ever  to  be  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  the  Chief 
Magistrate  of  a  Christian  people, — of  the  paramount  au- 
thority of  God,  and  of  the  necessity  there  is  that  all 
human  legislation  should  coincide  with  the  principles  of 
his  government.  It  is  a  great  and  a  sacred  trust  which 
the  people  of  this  Commonwealth  commit  to  their  Chief 
Magistrate,  and  they  expect  it  will  be  used  in  the  fear  of 
God  and  for  the  good  of  this  whole  people.  That  trust 
is  in  tried  hands,  and  we  rejoice  in  the  belief  that  it  is 
safely  deposited.  Especially,  may  I  be  permitted  to  say, 
does  it  give  me  pleasure  to  welcome  to  the  chair  of  state 
one  in  whose  civic  wreath  literary  honors  are  entwined, 
and  who  can  forget  the  toils  and  lay  aside  the  dignities 
of  office  to  cheer  the  young  scholar  on  his  way.  Long 
may  our  literary  institutions  continue  to  raise  up  those 
who  shall  add  to  the  dignity  of  office,  the  grace  of  learn- 


355 

ing  and  the  sanctity  of  private  virtue ;  and  who,  while 
they  devote  their  labors  more  particularly  to  the  good  of 
their  own  State,  shall  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  the 
Union  and  to  the  world. 

To  His  Honor  the  Lieutenant  Governor,  to  the  Honor- 
able Council  and  Senate,  and  to  the  assembled  Represen- 
tatives of  the  people,  the  sentiments  of  this  discourse  are 
addressed,  as  the  descendants  of  those  who  showed,  in 
the  hour  of  peril,  that  they  feared  God  rather  than  men. 
Following  their  example,  you  have  come  up,  as  you  are 
about  to  enter  upon  your  responsible  duties,  to  present, 
in  this  venerable  house,  thanksgivings  and  supplications 
to  the  Lord  God  of  our  Fathers  ;  and  to  do  homage  in  the 
name  of  the  republic,  to  His  institutions.  This  is  well. 
But  that  republic  expects  of  you  that  you  will  imitate, 
not  merely  in  form  but  also  in  spirit,  the  bright  examples 
that  are  set  before  you ;  that  you  will  act  from  principle  ; 
that  you  will  ''obey  God  rather  than  men."  So  doing, 
the  Commonwealth  will  be  safe,  for  it  is  the  simple  wis- 
dom of  goodness  that  alone  is  truly  wise. 


SERMON, 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  PASTORAL  ASSOCIATION  OF  MASSACHUSETTS, 

May  30,  1843. 


God  is  a  spirit:  and  they  that  worship  him,  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  ia 
truth.— John  iv.  24. 


It  is  from  the  Bible  alone,  directly  or  indirectly,  that 
we  gain  correct  ideas,  either  of  the  natural  attributes,  or 
of  the  moral  character  of  God.  However  distinctly  we 
may  trace  the  impress  of  his  hand  in  his  works  when  we 
already  believe  in  his  existence  and  true  attributes,  and 
however  possible  it  might  be  for  man,  if  his  powers  were 
unaffected  by  sin,  to  discover  from  the  things  that  are 
made  the  eternal  power  and  godhead  of  the  Creator,  yet 
the  whole  history  of  the  race  shows  that,  for  this  purpose, 
nature  is  not  to  man  its  own  interpreter.  Everywhere, 
and  under  all  circumstances,  men  ''  have  become  vain  in 
their  imaginations,  and  their  foolish  heart  has  been  dark- 
ened." If  the  great  doctrines  of  the  unity  and  spiritu- 
ality of  God  did,  indeed,  glimmer  in  upon  the  minds  of 
some  of  the  heathen  philosophers,  yet  no  people  of  ancient 
times  received  and  retained  them  except  the  Jews. 
Hence,  when  we  pass  from  the  heathen  philosophers  and 
poets  to  the  prophets  and  poets  of  the  Jews,  we  are  in  a 
new  world  as  respects  every  thing  that  relates  to  God. 


357 

Here  his  being  and  attributes  are  set  forth  in  the  highest 
strains  of  poetry.  And  this  poetry  is  also  truth.  It  is 
philosophy  transfigured,  and  therefore  it  never  grows  old. 
Even  now,  after  more  than  three  thousand  years,  after 
every  discovery  of  science,  it  stands  in  all  the  original 
freshness  and  unapproachable  majesty  of  the  starry 
heavens. 

But  what  they  thus  set  forth  in  poetry,  is  disclosed  in 
its  simplest  form  by  our  Saviour.  "  God  is  a  spirit :  and 
they  that  worship  him,  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in 
truth."  Probably  few  have  read  this  passage  without 
being  struck  by  it.  How  simple  the  words  !  The  doc- 
trine stated — how  great !  yet  how  simply,  and  naturally, 
and  incidentally  introduced !  The  inference  respecting 
the  worship  of  God — how  irresistible,  and  important,  and 
all-comprehensive,  and  yet  how  entirely  in  opposition  to 
the  prevailing  opinions  both  among  Jews  and  Gentiles ! 
Certainly  if  there  is  an  instance  in  which  the  annuncia- 
tion of  a  truth,  in  distinction  from  the  manifestation  of 
power,  may  be  said  to  produce  sublime  emotions,  it  is 
this. 

The  text  is  naturally  divided  into  two  parts — the  fact, 
or  doctrine  stated,  and  the  inference  from  it.  It  is  not 
my  purpose,  at  this  time,  to  dwell  upon  the  doctrine ;  I 
propose  rather  to  consider  the  characteristics  of  acceptable 
worship  here  stated ;  and  the  best  means  of  promoting  it. 

The  characteristics  of  acceptable  worship,  as  given  by 
our  Saviour,  are  two.  It  must  be,  first,  in  spirit,  and 
second,  iji  truth. 

What  then  is  included  in  the  worship  of  God  in  spirit, 
or  in  spiritual  worship  ? 

And  first,  I  remark,  that  to  worship  God  in  spirit,  we 
must  worship  him  as  a  spirit,  and  without  the  interven- 
tion of  any  sensible  form.  In  the  present  state  of  man, 
he  does  not  readily  form  to  himself  the  idea  of  a  God 


358 

who  is  a  spirit,  infinite,  eternal  and  holy.     Accustomed  to 
objects  of  sense,  he  seeks  for  something  visible,  or  repre- 
sents God  to   himself  by  the  conceptive  faculty,  under 
some  sensible  form.     Little  aware  of  the  distinction  be- 
tween a  conception  and  an  idea,  or  that  the  true  idea  of 
God  must  exclude  any  particular  conception  or  imagina- 
tion, he  is  ready  to  disbelieve  in   the  existence    of  any 
thing  of  which  he  cannot  conceive,  and  when  he  would 
think  of  it,  there  is  a  mere  blank  in  his  mind.     When  he 
would  pray  to  God,  he  seems  to   be  praying  to  nothing. 
He  asks  in  substance  the  questions  of  a  heathen,  as  recently 
given  by  a  missionary, — "  Why,   how  can  I  serve  him 
without  an  idol  ?     Where  can  I  put  the  flowers  ?    Where 
shall  I  burn  the  frankincense  ?     How  shall  I  bathe  him  ? " 
He  forgets  that  even  in  the  natural  world  he  is  under 
the  necessity  of  believing  in  the  existence  of  many  things, 
as  magnetism,  and  gravitation,  of  which  he  cannot  form 
a  conception.     He  believes  in   the  existence  of  these,  he 
has  an  idea  of  them  as  forces,  he  reasons  and  acts  with 
reference  to  them ;  but  if  they  were  intelligent  and  moral 
beings,  and  he  were  to  attempt  to  address  them,  he  would 
find  the  same  difficulty  that  he  does  in  addressing  a  pure 
spirit.     But  who  would  think  of  representing  magnetism 
or  gravitation  under  any  material  form  ?     Who  does  not 
see  that  any  such  form  must  lead  the  mind  from  the  true 
idea?     But  the  idea  of  spirit  requires  the  exclusion  of  all 
the  positive  conceptions  that  belong  to  matter,  and  the 
investiture  of  substance  with  qualities  directly  opposite. 
How  utterly  absurd  then  must  it  be  to  think  of  obtaining 
aid  in  our  approach  to  a  spiritual  being  by  any  material 
image,  or  any  symbolical  representation  !     By  any  attempt 
to  represent,  either  to  the  eye,  or  to   the  imagination, 
"the  high  and  lofty  One  who  inhabiteth  eternity,"  the 
true  idea  of  him  is  not  only  perverted,  but  degraded  ;  and 
all  the  purifying  and  elevating  eflfects   of  worship  are 
destroyed. 


359 

Nor  is  the  case  altered  from  the  fact  that  God  became 
manifest  in  the  flesh,  since  it  is  not  by  the  eye  of  sense 
or  of  imagination,  but  of  faith,  that  any  tiling  of  what 
Christ  did  for  our  salvation  can  be  perceived.  Well  has 
it  been  said  by  McLaurin,  "  Men  may  paint  Christ's 
outward  sufferings,  but  not  that  inward  excellency  from 
whence  their  virtue  flowed.  They  may  paint  one  cruci- 
fied, but  how  can  that  distinguish  the  Saviour  from  the 
criminals  ?  We  may  paint  the  outward  appearance  of 
his  suff*erings,  but  not  the  inward  bitterness,  or  invisible 
causes  of  them.  Men  can  paint  the  cursed  tree,  but  not 
the  curse  of  the  law  that  made  it  so.  Men  can  paint 
Christ  bearing  the  cross  to  Calvary,  but  not  Christ  bearing 
the  sins  of  many."  If  we  would  worship  God  in  spirit, 
we  must  worship  him  as  a  spirit. 

That  God  is  a  spirit,  and  that  he  is  God,  implies  that 
he  is  infinite  and  eternal,  and  possessed  of  all  those  natural 
attributes  which  are  necessary,  not  indeed  as  a  cause  but 
as  a  condition,  to  all  our  worship.  It  is  not  because  God  is 
omnipotent  or  omniscient  that  we  worship  him, — though 
if  he  could  not  see  our  worship,  or  could  not  do  for  us 
what  we  need,  that  worship  would  be  vain  ; — but  it  is 
because  of  the  moral  character  which  is  associated  with, 
and  controls  these  natural  attributes.  I  observe  therefore, 
in  the  second  place,  that  the  worship  of  God  in  spirit  im- 
plies the  worship  of  him  as  a  holy  God.  By  holiness  of 
God  I  mean  all  those  attributes  and  expressions  of  his 
moral  character  by  which  he  shows  that  he  loves  right- 
eousness, and  hates  iniquity.  Here  we  find  the  central 
and  indispensable  element  in  the  character  of  God  which 
makes  him  the  object  of  worship  at  all.  This  stands 
among  the  attributes  of  God,  like  mount  Zion,  crowned 
with  the  temple,  among  the  mountains  that  were  round 
about  Jerusalem.  The  other  attributes  are  majestic  and 
venerable,  but  it  is  from  their  association  with  this.  As 
God  is  great,  he  challenges  our  awe  ;  as  he  is  benevolent, 


360 

our  love  ;  but  it  is  only  as  he  is  perfectly  holy,  that  we 
yield  him  that  delightful  reverence  and  entire  moral  com- 
placency which  is  the  frankincense  of  spiritual  worship. 
It  is  only  those  exercises  of  the  spirit  in  which  we  gain 
clear  ideas  of  the  moral  character  of  God  as  manifested  in 
his  providence,  and  law,  and  gospel,  and  in  which  we 
are  strongly  affected  with  admiration  and  love  of  him  as 
such  a  God,  that  can  be  properly  called  spiritual.  If  God 
were  not  holy,  whatever  external  homage  might  be  reri- 
dered,  he  could  not  receive  true  worship  from  any  moral 
being  ;  and  being  holy,  no  moral  being  can  render  him 
true  worship  without  complacency  in  his  holiness. 

But  I  observe,  thirdly,  that  the  worship  of  God  in 
spirit,  implies  that  we  worship  him  with  the  spirit.  True 
worship  must  be  intelligent.  Plainly  we  cannot  worship 
God  farther  than  we  know  him.  This  is  indicated  in  the 
context,  in  which  Christ  says  to  the  Samaritans,  with 
implied  censure,  ''  Ye  know  not  what  ye  worship."  True 
worship  must  also  be  affectionate  and  from  the  heart. 
God  makes  himself  known  to  us  as  a  Father,  and  he  asks 
of  us  a  filial  temper,  that  is,  the  exercise  of  love  and  obe- 
dience towards  him.  But  knowledge,  love,  obedience, 
which  comprise  the  whole  of  religion,  are  acts  of  the 
spirit,  and  of  that  alone.  On  this  point  I  need  not  dwell. 
Every  man  knows  that  any  external  expression  without 
the  corresponding  internal  feeling,  is  only  hypocrisy  and 
mockery.  How  obvious  then  that  a  spiritual  and  rational 
creature  can  honor  God  only  by  knowing,  loving,  obey- 
ing, and  adoring  him  ;  and  that  no  form,  or  ceremony,  or 
rite,  or  offering  can  be  acceptable,  except  as  it  expresses 
the  state  of  the  spirit.  Hence,  as  we  might  expect  if  the 
scriptures  are  from  God,  we  every  where  hear  them  say- 
ing, "  My  son,  give  me  thy  heart."  '  To  love  the  Lord 
thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  thy  neighbor  as  thyself, 
is  more  than  whole  burnt  offering.'  "  They  that  worship 
him,  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 


361 

The  second  characteristic  of  acceptable  worship  as 
stated  in  the  text  is,  that  it  should  be  ''  in  truth."  Truth 
is  supposed  by  some  to  be  contrasted  here  with  the  cere- 
monial forms  of  the  Jews ;  but  the  worship  of  God  ''  in 
spirit,"  is  quite  as  naturally  contrasted  with  those  forms  ; 
and  as  the  idea  of  sincerity  is  certainly  included  in  that 
of  truth,  I  regard  this  as  the  more  probable  and  important 
meaning.  *'  God  requireth  truth  in  the  inward  parts." 
The  importance  of  sincerity  is  so  great,  religion  is  so  liable 
to  be,  and  has  been,  so  much  perverted  to  purposes  of  in- 
terest and  ambition,  that  we  might  reasonably  expect  that 
this  characteristic  would  be  specified  by  our  Saviour. 
Entire  sincerity — the  worship  of  God  for  its  own  sake, 
from  motives  of  duty  and  affection,  from  the  perception 
of  his  glorious  character  and  of  our  relations  to  him — 
this  is  the  great  privilege  of  man,  the  highest  act  in 
which  he  can  engage,  and  without  this  no  worship  can 
be  acceptable.  Other  things  connected  with  true  worship 
there  may  be,  but  this  must  be.  ^'  They  that  worship 
him  Tnust  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth." 

Having  thus  stated  what  spiritual  worship  would 
mclude,  I  observe  that  it  would  earclude,  and  radically 
destroy,  every  species  of  superstition.  Superstition  is 
one,  in  its  principle ;  but,  as  opposed  to  spiritual  religion, 
it  shows  itself  chiefly,  as  the  superstition  of  place  ;  or  of 
forms ;  or  of  priestly  intervention  ;  or  of  the  substitution 
of  offerings  and  bodily  sufferings  for  moral  qualities. 

But  that  place  cannot  be  important  to  spiritual  worship 
is  directly  asserted  in  the  context,  and  the  supposition 
that  it  might  be  so,  is  that  species  of  superstition  that 
called  forth  the  text  from  our  Saviour.  The  idea  that 
God  might  be  worshipped  in  some  places  more  acceptably 
than  in  others,  has  been  among  the  most  common  forms 
of  superstition,  and  was  almost  universally  prevalent  at 
that  day.  Men  think  of  God  as  such  an  one  as  them- 
selves. They  do  not  easily  conceive  of  him  as  infinite  in 
46 


362 

his  presence.  They  have,  moreover,  sacred  associations 
with  certain  places.  Hence  the  shrines  and  pilgrimages 
of  all  ages,  not  simply  for  taking  advantage  of  that  prin- 
ciple of  our  nature  by  which,  when  we  visit  the  place 
where  interesting  scenes  have  occurred,  our  conceptions 
and  feelings  become  more  vivid  and  intense,  but  because 
it  has  been  supposed  that  God  was  really  more  present 
there,  and  more  readily  propitiated,  and  that  there  was 
something  of  merit  and  holiness  attained  by  visiting  such 
places.  But  the  doctrine  of  the  text  sweeps  away  at  once 
every  idea  of  this  kind.  God  is  now  .  known  as  filling 
heaven  and  earth,  and  as  having  his  eye  open,  and  his 
ear  attent  upon  every  place  where  worship  goes  up  from 
humble  and  penitent  hearts. 

Nor,  I  will  just  say,  does  this  give  any  countenance  to 
those  who  withdraw  themselves  from  church  on  the 
ground  that  they  can  worship  God  as  well  at  home.  Pos- 
sibly they  can,  and  better.  But  they  cannot  worship  him 
there  publicly  and  socially,  nor  hear  the  word  of  God  dis- 
pensed by  the  living  preacher ;  and  it  is  because  public 
and  social  worship,  and  the  preaching  of  the  gospel,  are 
divine  institutions,  that  men  are  bound  to  go  to  church, 
and  not  because  the  worship  of  an  individual,  considered 
simply  and  by  itself,  can  be  better  performed  there. 

And  what  is  thus  true  of  place,  is  equally  true  of  forms. 
All  thinking  and  candid  men  agree  now,  that  no  form  can 
be  in  itself  of  any  value ;  and  also,  that  when  spiritual  and 
true  worship  is  really  offered,  it  is  equally  acceptable  to 
God,  whatever  the  form  may  be. 

I  observe,  also,  that  the  worship  now  spoken  of  ex- 
cludes all  idea  of  worship  by  proxy  ;  all  intervention  of 
any  man,  of  any  priest,  of  any  church  and  its  officers,  be- 
tween the  soul  and  God.  It  makes  religion  an  individual, 
personal  thing.  It  brings  every  man  directly  to  God. 
Even  Christ  himself,  as  mediator,  does  not,  as  some  seem 
to  suppose,  stand  between  the  soul  and  God.     He  came 


363 

to  open  a  way  through  which  we  might  come  to  God  by 
him,  and  all  that  he  has  done  will  avail  us  nothing  unless 
we  ourselves  come  to  God  in  that  way.  When  will  men 
learn  that  the  fundamental  idea  of  heaven  is  not  that  of  an 
estate  that  can  be  purchased,  or  of  a  place  to  which  they 
can  be  carried,  but  of  a  state  of  moral  union  with  God, 
and  of  conformity  to  him  !  This  is,  perhaps,  the  most 
subtle  and  dangerous  form  of  superstition  of  the  present 
day.  To  say  nothing  of  the  papist,  who  so  often  does  as 
he  is  bid  and  then  transfers  the  care  of  his  salvation  to 
the  priest  and  the  church,  there  are  many  Protestants  who 
think  of  a  church,  and  especially  of  what  they  imagine  to 
be  the  church,  as  possessed  of  some  mysterious  efficacy, 
and  as  able  to  afford  them  a  security  entirely  beyond  that 
which  they  would  derive  from  their  immediate  relation  to 
God  and  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

The  principle  of  what  has  just  been  said,  applies  so  di- 
rectly to  the  superstition  of  substituting  offerings  and 
bodily  sufferings  for  moral  qualities,  that  I  need  not  dwell 
upon  that. 

Thus  the  simple  words  of  the  text,  received  by  the 
church,  would  sweep  away  at  once  every  form  and  ves- 
tige of  superstition,  and  all  hypocrisy.  Superstition  and 
hypocrisy — these  have  always  been  the  great  sources  of 
corruption  to  the  church.  They  always  have  come  in, 
and  they  always  will,  just  in  proportion  as  spiritual  wor- 
ship declines ;  and  it  is  only  by  promoting  spiritual  wor- 
ship that  they  can  be  excluded. 

And  this  leads  me  to  inquire,  as  was  proposed  in  the 
second  place,  how  it  is  that  spiritual  worship  may  be  best 
promoted.  This  is  an  important  inquiry  to  us,  because  it 
is  this  worship  that  we,  my  brethren,  as  ministers  of  the 
gospel,  are  set  apart  to  promote.  It  is  important  too,  at 
the  present  time,  because  many  seem  to  be  departing  from 
the  simplicity  of  the  gospel ;  amd  the  spirit  of  form  in  op- 


364 

position  to  a  spirit  of  faith  and  of  power,  seems  to  be  gain- 
ing ground.  Even  in  New  England,  there  are  not  want- 
ing indications,  that  the  great  principles  of  the  Reforma- 
tion will  have  to  be  re-asserted  and  re-vindicated. 

The  answer  to  this  question  must  be  drawn  either  from 
the  Bible,  or  from  the  constitution  of  man.  But  these 
conspire  in  teaching  us,  that  the  worship  of  God  in  spirit 
and  in  truth  can  be  promoted  only  by  presenting  to  the 
mind  the  character  of  God,  as  a  spiritual  and  holy  being, 
as  a  Father,  a  Redeemer,  and  Sanctifier,  in  such  aflfecting 
lights  as  to  call  forth  suitable  emotions  and  a  right  course 
of  moral  action  towards  him.  All  truly  religious  emotion 
must  be  called  forth  in  view  of  some  manifestation  of  the 
character  of  God,  and  it  is  only  as  that  is  presented  direct- 
ly or  mediately,  that  any  thing  can  be  done  to  improve 
the  religious  character,  or  to  promote  acceptable  worship. 
This  is  our  great  principle.  Nature  is  religious  only  as  it 
manifests  God.  The  seat  of  religion  is  in  the  moral  and 
religious  nature  of  man  ;  and  as  these  are  quickened  by 
manifestations  of  the  character  of  God,  and  are  trained  to 
act  rightly  towards  God  and  duty,  a  pure  and  spiritual 
worship  will  not  fail  to  be  rendered. 

But  here  the  question  arises,  Are  we  required  by  the 
Bible,  or  by  the  nature  of  man,  to  address  these  faculties 
alone  ?  May  not  other  faculties  and  principles  of  our  na- 
ture be  cultivated  in  connection  with  these,  not  merely 
incidentally,  as  many  of  them  must  be,  but  systematically  ? 
Here  we  find  the  important  philosophical  question,  in  the 
solution  of  which  there  is  so  wide  a  difference  among 
different  sects.  We  shall  touch  upon  the  chief  points, 
both  of  difference  and  agreement,  if  we  consider,  as  I  now 
propose  to  do,  1st,  Whether  true  religion  may  not  be  pro- 
moted by  addressing  the  senses  and  the  imagination  by 
means  of  forms  and  ceremonies  ;  or,  2d,  by  an  appeal  to 
imagination  and  to  taste  through  the  fine  arts ;  or,  3d,  by 
an  appeal  to  the  principle  of  association  ;  or,  4th,  to  the 
social  principle  and  to  the  affections. 


365 

May  true  religion  then,  be  promoted  by  addressing  the 
senses  and  the  imagination  by  means  of  forms  and  cere- 
monies ?  And  here  the  first  question  evidently  is,  Does 
God  prescribe  for  us,  under  the  gospel,  any  forms  ?  And 
if  so,  for  what  purpose  ?  On  these  points  there  is  httle 
difference  of  opinion.  No  pretence  can  be  set  up  that 
there  is  any  form  of  worship  prescribed  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament, nor  do  I  know  that  it  is  pretended  by  any  sect 
that  there  is.  The  disciples  met  for  worship  and  prayed  ,• 
but  nothing  is  said  of  any  order  of  exercises,  or  of  any 
ceremonies,  or  of  any  uniform  attitude.  The  sacraments 
were  indeed  instituted  ;  but  the  chief  object  of  these  was 
not  to  promote  worship.  Their  objects  are,  first,  to  con- 
stitute a  visible  church  and  to  form  a  bond  of  union  to  its 
members,  and,  secondly,  to  convey  instruction  and  to  affect 
the  heart  through  the  senses,  by  a  language  intelligible  to 
all  men.  But  as  if  to  guard  even  these  against  abuse,  the 
simplest  possible  actions  were  adopted,  and  nothing  is 
said  of  the  time,  or  form,  or  mode  in  which  they  were 
ordinarily  administered. 

But  admitting  that  no  form  is  prescribed  in  the  New 
Testament,  may  not  the  church  adopt  certain  forms, 
which,  according  to  the  constitution  of  human  nature, 
will  promote  true  devotion  ?  Has  not  man  a  body  as  well 
as  a  soul,  and  in  his  present  imperfect  state  may  not  such 
forms  be  important  helps  ? 

Concerning  this  I  observe,  that  if  any  form  could  have 
been  devised  that  would,  on  the  whole,  have  been  so 
adapted  to  human  nature  as  to  promote  true  worship,  it 
would  not  have  been  omitted  in  the  New  Testament.  I 
distrust  altogether  any  compassion  for  the  weakness  of 
man,  and  any  skill  in  overcoming  it,  that  goes  beyond 
those  manifested  by  God.  I  know  there  are  those  who 
say,  that  these  things  are  nothing  in  themselves,  but  that, 
in  the  present  state  of  human  nature  and  of  intelligence 
among   the   people,  they  are  necessary  to  attract  attention 


366 

and  to  keep  alive  a  suitable  reverence  in  their  minds : 
that  for  themselves  they  do  not  need  them,  but  they  are 
necessary  for  the  people.  But  what  is  the  state  of  intel- 
lectual and  spiritual  manhood  for  the  race  ?  Let  us  know 
this,  and  this  whole  question  is  settled.  Is  it  one  in 
which  forms  are  abolished,  and  in  which  man  worships 
his  Creator  in  simplicity,  in  spirit,  and  in  truth  ?  If  it  is, 
then  the  proper  mode  of  leading  him  to  this  is  not  through 
forms.  For,  let  forms  be  once  introduced,  and  we  might 
certainly  know  that  they  would  be  retained,  by  selfishness 
and  the  love  of  power  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  habit  and 
association  on  the  other ;  and  thus  either  hold  the  race  in 
perpetual  childhood  and  imbecility,  or  greatly  embarrass 
and  retard  its  growth.  If  the  young  bird  is  to  fly,  let  it 
be  thrown  into  the  air.  If  man  is  to  worship  God  in 
spirit  and  in  truth,  he  must  not  be  encumbered  with 
forms. 

And  what  we  might  thus  anticipate,  all  history  shows 
has  taken  place.  By  means  of  forms  and  ceremonies,  the 
mind  has  first  been  drawn  from  God ;  and  then  it  has 
rested  in  them,  so  that  they  have  been  substituted  for  a 
Saviour  and  for  holiness  of  heart.  Thus  it  is  in  the 
church  of  Rome.  By  her  forms  she  does  the  two  greatest 
possible  evils  to  true  religion.  She  corrupts  the  simple 
and  spiritual  worship  of  God,  and  she  substitutes  a  false 
ground  of  hope  to  man.  These  two  are  intimately  con- 
nected ;  for  it  will  be  found  that  whenever  works  are  re- 
lied on  as  the  ground  of  salvation,  they  most  often  consist 
in  the  observance  of  those  forms  by  which  the  simplicity 
of  worship  is  marred  and  corrupted.  These  evils  have 
always  resulted  from  forms  and  probably  always  will. 
They  cling,  to  some  extent,  around  those  that  are  sim- 
plest ;  and  the  danger  is  increased  in  proportion  as  forms 
are  increased  and  rendered  more  imposing.  The  simple 
worship  of  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  in  opposition  to  all 
superstition   and   hypocrisy, — and  justification   by   faith 


367 

alone,  in  opposition  to  all  priestly  interposition  and  cere- 
monies of  the  church  and  penances  and  meritorious  works, 
— are  the  two  great  points  for  which  we  are  now  to  con- 
tend. These  have  always  been  inscribed  upon  the  true 
banner  of  the  church  of  God.  Over  our  churches  that 
banner  still  waves.  Let  us  gather  around  it.  Let  us 
abide  steadfastly  by  it,  if  need  be,  even  unto  death. 

We  now  proceed  to  inquire,  whether  the  pure  and 
spiritual  worship  of  God  may  not  be  promoted  by 
addressing  the  imagination  and  the  taste  through  the 
fine  arts.  Do  not  these  blend  with  the  movements  of  the 
religious  nature,  and  become  as  the  wings  of  devotion  to 
raise  the  soul  nearer  heaven?  No  doubt  here  is  one 
great  secret  of  the  power  of  the  Romish  church  over  the 
minds  of  her  people.  She  has  intimately  associated  all 
the  fine  arts  with  religion,  so  that  while  she  has  her 
forms  and  superstitions  for  the  many,  she  has  made  the 
church,  independently  of  religion,  an  agreeable  place  of 
resort  for  the  refined.  Men  love  excitement ;  there  is  a 
pleasure  connected  with  emotion  of  almost  every  kind  ; 
but  in  the  emotions  awakened  by  the  fine  arts  there  is  a 
high  luxury.  Let  then  these  emotions  be  connected  with 
the  awe  thrown  around  religion,  and  especially  let  them  be 
made  to  soothe  the  conscience  as  a  religious  duty,  and  it 
is  easy  to  see  how  strong  the  attraction  they  may  consti- 
tute. But  all  this  pleasure  and 'emotion  may  arise  in 
those  who  are  entirely  corrupt  and  worldly  in  their  lives, 
or  who  are  even  infidel  in  their  opinions.  What  men 
wish  to  avoid  is,  a  holy  God,  a  perception  of  his  moral 
government,  and  of  their  obligations  and  accountability 
to  him.  They  wish  to  have  their  fears  and  their 
consciences  quieted  by  something  like  religion  ;  and  they 
are  willing  and  pleased  to  have  all  those  emotions  of 
awe,  and  sublimity,  and  admiration  awakened,  which 
arise  in  view  of  the  natural  attributes  of  God  in  distinc- 
tion from  those   that  are  moral,  or,  better  still,   to  have 


368 

excited   by  the   fine   arts,  under  the   name  of  reUgion, 
emotions  kindred  to  these. 

In  the  present  moral  state  of  the  world,  there  will  be 
something  of  this  wherever  the  progress  in  wealth  and 
refinement  is  considerable.  For  what  can  a  man  do  who ' 
is  cultivated,  and  lives  in  refined  and  fashionable  circles, 
and  who  would  keep  upon  good  terms  with  himself  and 
with  the  church  or  with  the  religious  world,  and  who  yet 
cannot  submit  to  bring  his  conscience  and  his  whole 
moral  being  into  subjection  to  God  ?  How  can  such  a 
man  spend  his  Sabbaths  ?  Will  he  be  satisfied  to  go  to 
a  plain  house  of  worship  and  simply  listen  to  devout 
prayers  and  to  the  truth  ?  No.  He  will  either  take  a 
walk,  or  a  ride,  or  a  sail,  and  talk  of  seeing  God  in  his 
works — a  God  that,  as  he  sees  him  in  those  works,  has 
no  moral  law  and  does  not  speak  to  his  conscience  ;  or 
he  will  go  to  a  church  where  there  is  architecture,  and 
music,  and  it  may  be  painting  and  sculpture,  and  where 
it  is  well  if  there  be  not  a  preacher  whose  preaching 
chimes  in  and  harmonizes  with  all  this.  The  same 
general  tendencies  which  lead  the  hearer  to  seek  gratifi- 
cation from  the  fine  arts,  will  lead  the  preacher  to  culti- 
vate elegant  literature,  and  to  become  a  general  scholar 
and  a  fine  writer,  rather  than  a  man  of  prayer  and  mighty 
in  the  Scriptures. 

Would  you  then,  it  may  be  asked,  exclude  the  imagi- 
nation, and  the  class  of  emotions  now  referred  to,  from 
divine  worship?  I  answer.  No.  But  I  would  have  them 
called  forth  by  the  attributes,  and  by  the  present  or  the 
remembered  works  of  God,  rather  than  by  the  works  of 
man.  If  I  cannot  worship  in  the  broad  temple  of  God's 
works  ;  if  I  cannot,  like  the  Saviour,  pray  upon  a  moun- 
tain, where,  it  may  be,  the  starry  heavens  are  above  me 
and  the  breathing  stillness  of  nature  is  around  me,  or 
where,  it  may  be,  the  voice  of  the  tempest  is  in  the  top  of 
the  great  oak  by  which  I  kneel,  and  its  roar  is  among 


369 

the  hills,  while  the  lightning  writes  the  name  of  God  on 
the  sky  and  the  thunder  speaks  of  his  majesty ;  if  I 
cannot  stand  by  the  sea-shore  and  hear  the  bass  of 
nature's  great  anthem, — yet  let  no  poor  work  of  man 
come  between  me  and  the  remembered  emotions  which 
such  scenes  excite,  in  the  hour  of  my  worship  before  the 
great  and  holy  God,  whose  hand  made  all  these  things. 
''Where  is  the  house  that  ye  build  for  me?  "  says  God, 
''  and  where  is  the  place  of  my  rest  ?  "  "  Heaven  is  my 
throne,  and  the  earth  is  my  footstool."  Far  rather  would 
I  find  in  the  simplicity  of  the  place  of  worship  a  confes- 
sion of  its  inadequacy  to  lead  the  mind  up  to  God,  than 
to  find  any  beauty  of  architecture  or  any  gorgeousness 
of  decoration  that  would  lead  me  to  admire  the  work 
of  man,  and  draw  the  mind  from  God. 

Here,  however,  God  has  left  man  at  liberty ;  and  much 
is  to  be  allowed  for  the  influence  of  education,  and 
constitutional  peculiarity,  and  early  associations  and 
impressions.  I  have  no  sympathy  with  that  state  of 
mind  which  would  prevent  worship  in  a  cathedral.  God 
is  there.  But  I  would  have  it  forgotten  that  it  is  a 
cathedral,  and  remembered  that  God  is  there.  I  would 
so  magnify  God,  and  bring  his  spiritual  presence  so  near, 
that  those  things  should  be  indiiferent,  and  that  in  the 
cathedral,  as  well  as  in  the  plain  church,  or  under  the 
open  heaven,  men  should  equally  worship  God  in  spirit 
and  in  truth.  There  is,  however,  great  danger  that  the 
excitement  of  what  is  poetical  and  imaginative  in  man 
by  architecture,  and  music,*  considered  simply  as  music, 
and  painting,  and  statuary,  should  be  substituted  and 
mistaken  for  the  pure  and  holy  worship  of  God. 

*  On  no  account  would  I  say  any  thing  to  discourage  the  universal  and 
high  cultivation  of  sacred  music.  This  differs  from  the  other  fine  arts, 
because  its  appropriate  office  is  not  mpression  but  expression.  Where  it  is 
regarded  and  admired  for  its  own  sake,  it  obstructs  instead  of  promoting  the 
worship  of  God. 

47 


370 

On  this  point  the  simplicity  of  Puritanism  has  been 
regarded  as  austere.  But  so  has  the  true  worship  of  God 
always  been  regarded  by  the  many.  While  therefore  we 
find  in  our  Bibles,  and  in  the  works  of  God,  the  motives 
and  the  media  of  worship,  while  we  are  willing  and  de- 
sirous that  the  fine  arts  should  have  their  appropriate  tem- 
ples and  be  cultivated  as  they  ought  to  be  among  a  refined 
people,  we  yet  remember  that  even  under  the  old  dispen- 
sation, the  acceptable  worship  went  up  from  an  altar  of 
unhewn  stone  ;  and  we  think  it  best  accords  with  the 
spirit  of  the  New  Testament,  and  is  shown  by  history  to 
.  be  safest,  and  is  most  conducive  to  the  worship  of  God  in 
spirit  and  in  truth,  that  a  chaste  simplicity  should  charac- 
terize all  the  structures  and  all  the  forms  of  our  religion. 
We  think  that  the  appropriate  object  of  religious  services 
is  to  cultivate  the  moral  and  religious  nature,  and  that 
there  should  be  no  attempt  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the 
mind  by  forms,  or  to  blend  the  emotions  appropriate  to  the 
fine  arts  with  those  higher  emotions  that  belong  to  the 
worship  of  God. 

Perhaps  our  Puritan  ancestors  carried  their  feelings  on 
these  points  too  far ;  but  we  think  it  can  be  shown,  from 
the  nature  of  things,  and  from  the  developments  of  the 
times,  that  they  were  substantially  right ;  and  we  abide  in 
their  faith.  I  would  rather  have  joined  in  one  prayer 
with  the  simple  pastor  and  his  persecuted  flock  among  the 
glens  and  fastnesses  of  the  rocks  in  the  highlands  of  Scot- 
land ;  I  would  rather  have  heard  one  song  of  praise  rise 
and  float  upon  those  free  breezes  in  the  day  when  the 
watch  was  set,  and  the  bloody  trooper  was  abroad,  set  on 
by  those  who  worshipped  in  cathedrals ;  I  would  rather 
have  kneeled  upon  the  beach  with  the  company  of  the 
Mayflower  when  persecution  was  driving  them  into  the 
wilderness, — than  to  have  listened  to  all  the  rituals  and 
Te  Deums  in  every  cathedral  in  Europe. 

We  next  inquire  whether  we  may  not  take  advantage 


371 

of  the  principle  of  association  to  aid  devotion,  and 
especially  of  that  well  known  fact  that  our  ideas  of  things 
invisible  become  more  vivid,  and  affecting,  and  perma- 
nent, when  they  are  associated  with  sensible  objects. 
Has  not  our  Saviour  himself  taken  advantage  of  this 
principle  in  instituting  the  sacraments  ?  and  may  we  not 
follow  his  example  and  carry  out  the  same  principle  in 
other  things  ?  Will  not  a  cross,  erected  or  represented  in 
the  church,  remind  us  of  our  Saviour's  sufferings  ?  Will 
not  consecrated  water  at  the  door,  remind  us  of  our  need 
of  purification  ?  Will  not  incense  ascending,  give  us  an 
affecting  sense  of  the  efficacy  of  prayer  ?  Will  not  a 
relic  of  some  ancient  saint  remind  us  of  his  virtues  and 
lead  us  to  imitate  them  ?  May  we  not  usefully  set  apart, 
as  they  did  under  the  old  dispensation,  a  particular  form 
of  vestment  in  which  the  ministers  of  religion  shall 
officiate,  and  which  shall  be  associated  in  the  minds  of 
the  people  only  with  the  solemn  services  of  religion  ? 
May  we  not,  in  these,  and  in  many  more  ways,  employ 
this  principle  to  aid  true  devotion  ? 

It  is  not  surprising  that  this  should  have  been  attempted. 
Probably  it  has  been  done  in  most  instances  from  good 
motives,  but  the  result  has  shown  that  "  the  foolishness 
of  God  is  wiser  than  men."  It  might  have  seemed  to 
the  wisdom  of  man  that  to  have  the  body  of  their  great 
prophet  buried  among  them,  and  a  monument  erected  over 
it,  would  remind  the  ancient  Israelites  of  their  deliver- 
ance from  Egypt,  and  of  the  law  he  gave.  But  God 
buried  him  where  no  man  knoweth  of  his  sepulchre  till 
this  day.  He  left  no  relic  or  vestige  of  him  to  be  a 
source  of  superstition  in  other  days.  This  shows  His 
estimate  of  the  principle  ;  and  the  results  where  this  has 
been  attempted  are  such  as  to  make  us  feel,  that,  though 
it  may  be  sometimes  innocent,  it  is  always  dangerous,  and 
to  lead  us  to  observe  only  those  forms  which  the  Saviour 
instituted  as  necessary  to  the    visibility   of  his   church. 


372 

When  we  see,  at  this  day,  a  whole  city  moved  because  a 
bone  of  a  good  man  who  died  some  fourteen  hundred 
years  ago,  is,  or  is  supposed  to  be  found ;  and  when  we 
see  the  dignitaries  of  a  church  performing  over  it  cere- 
monies and  carrying  it  in  pompous  procession  ;  and  when 
we  see  the  same  people  burning  Bibles  and  persecuting 
those  who  would  enlighten  the  people ;  we  feel  that  we 
cannot  be  too  careful  how  we  take  the  first  step  towards  a 
degeneracy  and  a  perversion  of  the  gospel  so  awful. 

The  question  is  not  whether  the  principle  of  association 
shall  operate  in  connection  with  religion.  It  will  and 
must  do  so  in  connection  with  the  visibility  of  the  church 
in  any  form,  and  around  that  church  associations  the  most 
tender,  and  hallowed,  and  enduring,  will  cluster.  But  it 
is  whether  we  are  to  adopt  the  principle  and  act  upon  it  as 
a  system.  No  4oubt  it  gives  the  church  a  strong  hold 
upon  the  people.  It  enables  her  to  fix  a  stamp  early  and 
firmly  on  the  minds  of  the  young ;  but  that  stamp  is  the 
mark  of  the  beast,  and  not  the  seal  of  the  Spirit.  It  is 
one  great  instrument  by  which  the  systems  of  heathen 
superstition  are  sustained  and  riveted.  It  always  has  led 
to  superstition,  and  it  always  will.  Paul  said,  "though 
I  have  known  Christ  Jesus  after  the  flesh,  yet  now  hence- 
forth know  I  him  no  more."  The  religion  of  Christ  is  a 
moral  and  a  spiritual  system,  and  all  attempts  to  associate 
its  great  truths  with  sensible  objects,  will  bring  the  mind 
down  to  them,  instead  of  carrying  it  up  to  those  truths. 

But,  my  brethren,  if  there  are  these  dangers  connected 
with  the  introduction  of  forms,  and  of  the  fine  arts,  and 
of  the  principle  of  association,  neither  is  our  simple  mode 
of  worship  without  its  dangers.  The  danger  on  the  one 
side  is  of  formality  and  superstition ;  on  the  other,  of  in- 
difference and  want  of  reverence.  This  is  often  painfully 
evident  in  our  congregations,  to  the  neglect  of  what  may 
be  called  expressive  forms,  and  the  natural  language  of 
the  emotions.     God  has  so  connected  the  mind  with  the 


373 

body,  that  to  every  emotion  there  is  a  natural  form  of 
expression ;  and  that  the  emotions  connected  with  wor- 
ship should  not  be  expressed  by  some  appropriate  external 
sign,  is  both  unseemly,  and  tends  to  destroy  the  emotion 
itself.  In  many  of  our  congregations  we  are  pained  to 
notice  during  worship  an  entire  want  of  uniformity  of 
posture  and  of  the  appearance  of  devotion. 

Another  danger  is,  that  worship  appropriately  so  called, 
will  lose  its  proper  relative  place.  We  meet  in  public  for 
the  purpose  of  social  worship  and  of  instruction,  and 
every  thing  done  may  be  said  to  consist  of  worship  and 
of  the  sermon.  In  ancient  times  the  great  thing  was  the 
worship.  When  the  gospel  was  preached,  instruction 
evidently  became  much  more  prominent,  but  still  worship 
is  the  highest  employment.  The  object  of  knowledge  is 
to  lead  to  intelligent  worship.  I  care  not  how  high  a 
place  the  sermon  may  hold  absolutely ;  I  would  honor  the 
preaching  of  the  gospel  as  the  great  means  appointed  by 
God  for  saving  men  ;  but  relatively  the  sermon  should  be 
subordinate  to  the  worship.  But  without  being  formally 
stated,  it  has  been  practically  felt,  that  in  the  simplicity 
of  our  worship,  more  must  be  done  in  the  sermon  to  make 
the  house  of  God  attractive ;  and  hence  it  is  undoubtedly 
true,  that  the  power  of  preaching  has  been  more  culti- 
vated, and  the  relative  position  of  the  sermon  has  been 
higher  with  us,  than  with  most  other  denominations. 
Perhaps  this  must  be  so  to  some  extent.  The  sermon  is 
the  proper  place  for  an  address,  not  only  directly  to  the 
understanding  and  heart,  but  also  incidentally  to  the  taste 
and  the  imagination ;  and  while  the  irreligious  man  can- 
not be  expected  to  join  in  the  worship  of  God,  he  may  be 
gratified  and  instructed  by  the  sermon,  and  it  would  seem 
a  matter  of  course  that  it  should  form  the  chief  attraction 
for  him.  It  is  not  of  this  that  I  complain,  but  that  minis- 
ters themselves,  and  religious  people,  too  often  think  more 
of  the  sermon   than  of  the  other  parts  of  divine  service. 


374 

and  that  there  is  among  us  a  want  of  the  proper  cultiva- 
tion of  the  feeling  of  reverence  and  of  devotion  in  the 
worship  of  God.  The  house  of  God  is  not  a  mere  place 
for  preaching.  This  I  am  persuaded  it  is  in  the  power 
of  the  pastors  to  remedy,  not  by  neglecting  their  sermons, 
but  by  cultivating  in  themselves  the  spirit  of  devotion, 
and  by  proper  instruction  of  the  people. 

But  if  we  may  not  appeal  to  the  people  through  forms, 
or  the  fine  arts,  or  the  principle  of  association,  except 
incidentally,  there  is  yet  one  principle  to  which  we  may 
appeal  in  sustaining  religion,  and  one  too,  the  power  of 
which  needs  to  be  more  fully  brought  forth  in  these  latter 
days — I  mean,  the  social  principle  and  the  affections. 
^'  Behold,"  said  the  heathen,  in  the  early  days  of  Chris- 
tianity, ''how  these  Christians  love  one  another."  When 
genuine  love  exists  in  a  community  towards  a  common 
object  and  towards  each  other,  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
in  bringing  them  together,  and  in  making  them  efficient 
in  action.  Mightier  far  is  this — love  to  the  Saviour,  love 
to  their  pastor,  love  to  each  other,  love  to  a  world  perish- 
ing around  them, — than  taste,  or  imagination,  or  associa- 
tions connected  with  any  outward  form.  In  this  alone 
will  the  true  ground  of  the  efficiency  of  any  church  be 
found.  Having  this,  they  will  meet  together  and  sustain 
the  institutions  of  religion,  and  labor,  and  pray,  and  give  ; 
and  not  having  this,  there  will  be  the  form  of  godliness 
without  the  power  thereof. 

It  is  one  excellence  of  our  religion,  and  an  evidence  of 
its  divinity,  that  it  not  only  regards  man  as  related  to  God 
in  his  individual  capacity,  but  that  it  takes  into  view  his 
social  nature,  and  fits  him  to  be  the  member  of  a  perfect 
community.  Hence  the  social  principle  in  all  its  forms, 
from  the  slightest  manifestation  of  natural  affection  and 
neighborly  kindness  up  to  the  peculiar  love  which  Chris- 
tians bear  each  other,  ought  to  be  cultivated  in  the 
church,  and  to   be  associated  with  the  worship  and  the 


375 

institutions  of  religion.  If  the  social  principle  could  have 
free  power  in  religion — if  restraints  and  formalities  could 
be  broken  away,  and  soul  could  commune  with  soul  with 
the  same  freedom  on  this  as  upon  other  subjects, — I  feel 
that  one  great  barrier  would  be  removed,  and  that  the 
waters  of  salvation  would  flow  more  freely  through  all 
the  channels  of  society.  And  the  church  is  an  insti- 
tution admirably  adapted  to  facilitate  this.  The  proper 
idea  of  a  church,  is  that  of  a  body  of  men  associated 
together  for  the  purpose  of  aiding  each  other  in  mutual 
edification — that  they  may  be  more  fully  conformed  to 
the  Saviour,  and  may  better  serve  God,  and  build  up 
his  kingdom  in  the  world.  But  how  is  it  now  ?  When 
a  man  joins  a  church,  does  he  feel  that  it  is  to  be  the 
means  of  cultivating  his  social  nature  ?  Does  he  feel  and 
find  that  he  is  associated  with  a  band  of  brethren  who 
regard  his  best  interests,  and  watch  over  them  ?  Does 
he  feel  that  he  has  entered  into  an  association  where  his 
affections  are  to  be  called  forth,  and  his  energies  are  to  be 
enlisted,  as  in  a  school  of  mutual  improvement  and  for 
the  purpose  of  doing  good  ?  How  is  it  with  the  meetings 
of  the  church  ?  Is  any  thing  done  for  mutual  improve- 
ment or  social  culture  ?  Is  there  a  free  expression  of 
feeling  ?  Or  are  they  cold  and  formal  ?  My  brethren,  I 
put  these  questions,  not  knowing  how  these  things  may 
be  in  your  churches,  but  with  the  conviction  that  the 
power  of  the  church  as  a  social  institution  is  little  known, 
and  that  one  of  its  great  energies  is  slumbering.  This 
is  a  point  to  which  I  would  gladly  call  the  attention  of 
this  body  because  I  think  it  vital  to  the  interests  of  the 
church.  Are  church  members  sufficiently  aware  of  their 
relative  duties  ?  In  the  pursuit  of  gain — in  the  contests 
of  ambition — in  the  demands  of  fashion — perhaps  some- 
times in  the  calls  of  benevolent  societies,  are  not  the 
claims  of  the  church  and  of  the  members  of  Christ's  body 
neglected  ?     May   not  the  pastor  do  more  in  making  it 


376 

felt  that  he  is  not  simply  a  preacher,  but  a  pastor^  a  leader 
of  the  church  in  spiritual  activity,  earnestly  engaged  in 
promoting  the  cause  of  Christ  in  every  way,  and  that  they 
are  to  co-operate  with  him  ?  May  not  Sabbath  schools, 
and  Bible  classes,  and  social  meetings  be  instituted — let 
any  man  read  the  life  of  Baxter  and  he  will  see  that  they 
may — so  as  to  engage  the  affections  and  associations  of 
the  young,  and  to  call  forth  the  zeal  and  activity  of  all? 
May  not  all  be  made  to  feel  that  they  have  something 
more  to  do  in  sustaining  the  cause  of  religion  than  simply 
to  attend  meeting  ?  Let  a  church  have  its  affections 
and  its  activity  thus,  or  in  any  other  way  excited,  and  let 
them  feel  that  their  pastor  is  truly  a  pastor  and  a  leader, 
and  that  they  are  co-operating  with  him,  and  they  will 
go  to  the  house  of  God,  not  to  be  entertained,  but  to 
worship  Him,  and  will  be  glad  to  hear,  in  connection 
with  His  institutions,  a  plain  sermon.  They  will  seek  to 
honor  God's  institutions,  to  learn  their  duty,  and  will 
cease  to  send  their  thoughts,  with  the  fool's  eyes,  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth  in  search  of  great  men.  Then  should 
we  see,  not  simply  individual  Christians,  in  their  closets, 
but  whole  churches  unitedly,  socially,  worshipping  God 
in  spirit  and  in  truth.  I  do  believe  that  the  spirit  of 
activity,  and  of  Christian  affection,  and  of  devotion, 
may  be  so  cultivated  that  there  shall  be  fewer  itching 
ears,  and  fewer  disastrous  changes  in  the  ministry. 

From  the  subject  as  thus  presented,  I  remark,  first, 
That  we  see  what  it  is  that  God  values  and  seeks  for,  as 
his  holy  eye  looks  down  upon  the  multitude  of  costly 
churches  in  Christendom,  and  upon  the  crowds  that 
weekly  assemble  in  them.  It  is  upon  the  spiritual  wor- 
shipper alone,  however  humble  and  neglected  by  the 
crowd,  that  he  looks  with  complacency. 

I  remark,  secondly,  That  the  labors  of  those  who  would 
promote  spiritual  worship  must   be  great.     This  must  be 


377 

so  in  any  form  in  which  a  church  and  its  worship  can  be 
constituted,  because  it  implies  an  opposition  to  the  whole 
force  of  human  corruption,  and  to  that  desire  to  get  to 
heaven  without  holiness  of  heart,  which  is  the  very  es- 
sence of  popery  and  paganism  and  formality.  But  em- 
phatically must  this  be  so  with  us,  as  so  much  of  the  in- 
terest of  the  worship  must  depend  upon  the  pastor.  Very 
different  is  it  in  most  other  denominations.  In  the  papal 
church  the  forms  are  every  where  the  same,  and  one  man 
can  go  through  them  as  well  as  another.  The  preaching 
is  relatively  nothing.  In  the  Episcopal  church  the  pray- 
ers are  composed  by  the  church,  and  much  of  the  duty  of 
a  clergyman  consists  in  going  through  with  a  prescribed 
form.  In  the  Methodist  church  the  system  of  itinerancy 
prevents  the  necessity  of  mental  labor  for  more  than  four 
or  five  years.  Not  so  in  the  Congregational  churches. 
In  them  the  whole  responsibility  both  of  the  worship  and 
of  the  sermon  comes  upon  the  pastor,  and  he  must  appear 
from  year  to  year  before  the  same  intelligent  and  thinking 
people.  This  is  a  burden  which  the  Spirit  of  God,  in 
connection  with  the  prayers  of  the  church,  can  enable  a 
man  adequately  to  sustain,  and  nothing  else  can.  Into 
such  a  ministry  few  will  enter  that  they  may  enjoy 
literary  leisure  ;  and, — though  some  may  leave  it,  as  we 
doubt  not  they  do,  from  sincere  conviction, — we  do  not 
wonder  that  the  ambitious,  the  lovers  of  ease  and  pleasure, 
and  those  in  whom  the  imagination  preponderates,  should 
go  out  from  among  us.  But  if  our  labors  are  arduous,  or 
our  sacrifices  great,  they  are  not  such  as  were  those  of 
our  great  Master  and  of  his  Apostles.  In  their  footsteps 
we  think  we  follow.  To  them  we  look  for  an  example. 
We  claim  for  ourselves  whatever  there  is  that  is  venerable 
in  an  antiquity  higher  than  that  of  the  papal  church.  We 
are  grieved  and  astonished  at  the  forms  and  ceremonies 
and  pomps  and  mummeries  and  priestly  domination,  that 
has  assumed  to  be  the  religion  of  Him  who  was  meek  and 
48 


378 

lowly  ;  who  went  about  doing  good  ;  who  had  not  where 
to  lay  his  head  ;  who  taught  men  to  worship  God  in  spirit 
and  in  truth.  We  would  be  of  his  spirit.  We  would 
teach  men  every  where  the  great  lessons  that  he  taught ; 
if  it  should  be  necessary  in  that  mighty  struggle^  the  fore- 
tokenings  of  which  he  must  be  blind  who  does  not  see, 
we  would  pray  for  strength  to  yield  ourselves  to  the  bap- 
tism with  which  he  was  baptized. 

And  this  leads  me  to  remark,  finally,  that  those  who 
would  promote  the  spiritual  and  true  worship  of  God, 
should  themselves  be  spiritual  and  holy  men.  This  is  the 
one  thing  needful  in  the  ministry  of  any  church  or  under 
any  form.  This  we  would  embrace  in  the  arms  of  our 
affection  wherever  we  find  it.  This  can  irradiate  and 
beautify,  as  the  sunlight  the  evening  cloud,  any  form  not 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  the  gospel ;  and  without  this,  all 
forms,  even  our  own,  will  become  but  as  the  material 
upon  which  a  false  religion  will  be  enthroned  to  the  terror 
and  corruption,  or  on  which  it  will  be  gibbeted  for  the 
mockery,  of  mankind.  But  let  there  be  a  faithful,  humble, 
holy  ministry,  and  the  w^ord,  and  worship,  and  ordinances 
of  God  will  be  honored.  From  them  there  will  go  out 
an  influence,  such  as  can  go  from  them  alone,  that  will  be 
felt  for  good  in  every  interest  and  in  every  relation  of 
society.  God  will  set  his  seal  upon  their  labors.  Not 
more  certain  is  the  promise  of  seed  time  and  harvest,  than 
that  "  they  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy."  There 
will  be  joy  in  heaven  over  repenting  sinners  ;  there  will 
be  joy  on  earth  because  "  Zion  shall  arise  and  shine,  her 
light  being  come  ;  "  and  there  will  be  joy  when  the  chief 
Shepherd  shall  appear,  and  such  pastors  shall  go  up  with 
their  flocks  to  stand  before  him.     Amen. 


SERMON, 


DELIVERED  AT  PITTSFIELD,  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  THE  BERKSHIRE 
JUBILEE. 

August  22,  1844. 


And  this  is  the  Berkshire  Jubilee  !  We  have  come  — 
the  sons  and  daughters  of  Berkshire  —  from  our  villages, 
and  hill  sides,  and  mountain  tops  ;  from  the  distant  city, 
from  the  far  west,  from  every  place  where  the  spirit  of 
enterprise  and  of  adventure  bears  men  —  we  have  come. 
The  farmer  has  left  his  field,  the  mechanic  his  work- 
shop, the  merchant  his  counting-room,  the  lawyer  his 
brief,  and  the  minister  his  people  ;  and  we  have  come  to 
revive  old  and  cherished  associations,  and  to  renew  former 
friendships — to  lengthen  the  cords  and  strengthen  the 
stakes  of  every  kind  and  time-hallowed  affection. 

And  coming  thus  from  these  wide  dispersions,  under 
circumstances  which  must  carry  our  minds  back  to  the 
first  dawnings  of  life,  and  cause  us  to  review  all  the  path 
of  our  pilgrimage ;  coming  too  as  natives  and  citizens  of 
a  State  on  the  eastern  border  of  which  is  Plymouth  rock  ; 
what  so  suitable  as  that  our  first  public  act  should  be  to 
assemble  ourselves  for  the  worship  of  the  God  of  our 
fathers  and  our  God,  and  to  do  honor  to  those  institutions 
of  religion  through  the  influence  of  which,  chiefly,  we 
are  what  we  are,  and  without  which  the  moral  ele- 
ments in  which   this  occasion   has  oriarinated  could  not 


380 

have  existed.  Coming  thus  to  celebrate  a  local  thanks- 
giving,— local  in  one  sense,  but  extended  in  another,  since 
this  day  our  family  affection  is  thrown  around  a  whole 
county, — how  fit  is  it,  while  we  look  back  on  all  the  way 
in  which  God  has  led  us,  while  our  kind  feelings  towards 
our  fellow-men  are  awakened  and  strengthened,  that  we 
should  suffer  all  the  goodness  of  God  to  lead  us  to  him — 
that  we  should  adopt,  as  I  am  sure  every  one  of  us  has 
reason  to  do,  the  language  of  the  Psalmist,  and  say, 
"  Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul ;  for  the  Lord  hath 
dealt  bountifully  with  thee." 

This  passage  of  Scripture,  which  I  have  selected  as  my 
text  on  this  occasion,  is  the  seventh  verse  of  the  116th 
Psalm : 

"  Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul  ;  for  the  Lord 
hath  dealt  bountifully  with  thee." 

These  words  assert  a  fact,  and  contain  an  exhortation 
based  on  that  fact.  We  will  first  attend  to  the  fact ;  and 
then  to  the  exhortation. 

The  fact  asserted  is,  ''  The  Lord  hath  dealt  bountifully 
with  thee."  And  here,  in  accordance  with  what  has 
already  been  said  of  the  propriety  of  our  assembling  thus, 
the  first  tiling  which  I  notice  is  the  agency  of  God  in  the 
prosperity  of  men.  The  assertion  is,  "  The  Lord  hath 
dealt  bountifully  with  thee." 

The  Bible  ditfers  from  all  other  books  in  its  recognition 
of  God  in  every  thing.  There,  we  not  only  find  it  for- 
mally stated  that  in  him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our 
being,  that  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  without  him, 
and  that  the  very  hairs  of  our  heads  are  all  numbered ; 
but  we  find  an  incidental  reference  to  him  of  all  those 
events  which  are  usually  attributed  to  natural  causes. 
There  we  find  no  personification  and  deification  of  the 
laws  of  nature,  or  of  any  principles  or  agencies,  to  come 
between  the  creature  and  God.  There  we  find  no  identi- 
fication of  God  with  the  universe  on  the  one  hand,  and 


381 

no  exclusion  of  him  from  it,  under  the  pretence  of  exalt- 
ing him,  on  the  other.  He  is  there  represented,  indeed, 
as  in  tlie  midst  of  his  works,  but  as  distinct  from  them 
as  the  builder  of  the  house  is  from  the  house.  He  is 
represented  as  the  proprietor  of  all  things,  as  sustaining 
and  controlling  all  things,  and  as  furnishing  by  his  all- 
pervading  agency  the  only  conditions  on  which  any  sub- 
ordinate agency  can  be  exercised.  Do  the  Israelites 
triumph  in  battle?  It  is  God  who  gives  them  the  vic- 
tory. Does  an  enemy  come  up  against  them  ?  It  is  God 
who  brings  him.  Famine,  and  pestilence,  and  great  war- 
riors, are  the  scourges  of  God.  It  is  his  sun  that  he 
causeth  to  rise  upon  the  evil  and  upon  the  good ;  and  his 
rain  that  he  sendeth  upon  the  just  and  upon  tl*  unjust. 
''  He  hath  made  the  earth  by  his  power,  he  hath  established 
the  world  by  his  wisdom,  and  stretched  out  the  heavens 
by  his  discretion.  When  he  uttereth  his  voice,  there  is  a 
multitude  of  waters  in  the  heavens,  and  he  causeth  the 
vapors  to  ascend  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  ;  he  maketh 
lightnings  with  rain,  and  bringeth  forth  the  wind  out  of 
his  treasures."  His  are  the  "corn  and  the  wine,  and  the 
oil  and  the  flax."  His  are  the  beasts  of  the  field,  and 
the  cattle  upon  a  thousand  hills,  and  he  exercises  a  provi- 
dential control  over  all.  What  he  giveth  his  creatures, 
they  gather ;  "  He  openeth  his  hand,  and  they  are  filled 
with  good.  He  hideth  his  face,  they  are  troubled ;  He 
taketh  away  their  breath,  they  die  and  return  to  their 
dust."  If  any  are  in  adversity,  it  is  because  God  tries 
and  would  correct  them ;  if  any  are  in  prosperity,  it  is 
because  God  hath  dealt  bountifully  with  them.  Is  suc- 
cess the  result  of  strength  and  skill?  that  strength  and 
skill  he  gives.  The  most  wise  and  skilful,  not  less  than 
the  most  fortunate,  has  reason  to  render  thanksgiving  and 
praise  to  him. 

It  is  this  fact  of  the  universal,  absolute,  and  entire  de- 
pendence of  all  creatures  upon  God,  a  fact  elementary  to 


382 

all  true  religiorij  which  places  us  in  the  peculiar  relation 
which  we  hold  to  God  as  a  Father,  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  gratitude  for  the  past  and  trust  for  the  fu- 
ture, of  which  we  would  feel  at  all  times,  but  especially 
at  this  time,  a  deep,  abiding,  and  practical  sense.  What- 
ever of  goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  us ;  whatever 
of  prosperity,  and  success,  and  enjoyment  have  been  ours  ; 
we  would  to-day  look  back  upon  the  way  in  which  God 
has  led  us,  and  ascribe  it  all  to  him.  We  would  say  it  is 
because  "  the  Lord  hath  dealt  bountifully  with  us." 

Thus  recognizing  the  agency  of  God,  we  next  inquire 
for  a  moment,  what  it  is  for  him  to  deal  bountifully  with 
us.  This  would  seem  to  require  but  little  explanation, 
but  it  mitBt  be  noticed  in  connection  with  what  has  just 
been  said  of  that  agency,  lest  the  evil  which  results  from 
the  negligence  and.  folly  and  vice  of  men,  should  be  im- 
puted to  the  provisions  and  agency  of  God. 

When  God  is  said  to  deal  bountifully  with  men,  refer- 
ence is  sometimes  had  to  the  original  endowments  which 
he  bestows  upon  them.  Thus,  if  we  compare  man  with 
the  brutes,  we  find  him  possessed  of  a  commanding  intel- 
lect, and  reason,  and  conscience,  of  which  they  are  en- 
tirely destitute.  These  he  has  received  from  God,  and 
God  may  be  justly  said  to  have  dealt  bountifully  with 
him  in  bestowing  them.  So,  also,  if  we  compare  men 
with  each  other,  we  find  them  possessing  every  variety  of 
constitution  and  natural  gifts,  and  of  some  it  may  be  said 
emphatically  and  pre-eminently,  that  God  hath  dealt 
bountifully  with  them. 

But  in  general,  when  we  speak  of  God's  dealing  boun- 
tifully with  men,  we  do  not  refer  to  the  original  endow- 
ments and  capabilities  with  which  they  are  furnished. 
These  are  taken  for  granted,  and  the  bounty  of  God  is 
made  to  consist  in  his  bestowment  of  those  external  gifts 
by  means  of  which  all  the  faculties  and  capabilities  of 
man  are  developed,  and  in  which  they  find  their  true  en- 


383 

joyment.  Scarcely  more  dependent  is  the  seed  upon  the 
rain  and  the  sunshine  to  cause  it  to  germinate  and  grow, 
than  is  man  upon  means  and  influences  external  to  him- 
self, and  to  a  great  extent  independent  of  himself,  for 
growth  and  enjoyment.  God  is  an  independent  being. 
He  suffices  unto  himself.  He  is  infinitely  happy  in  him- 
self, and  is  dependent  in  no  degree  upon  any  external  ad- 
justment, or  upon  any  correspondence  to  him  of  things 
without.  Hence  no  accident  can  reach  him,  no  change 
can  affect  him.  In  this  respect  his  mode  of  existence  is 
totally  different  from  that  of  all  created  beings.  Crea- 
tures, probably  from  the  necessity  of  the  case,  are  depend- 
ent upon  God.  It  is  the  glory  and  happiness  of  rational 
and  moral  creatures  that  they  are  dependent  upon  him, 
directly  and  immediately,  as  the  only  object  to  which 
their  faculties  correspond,  and  which  is  capable  of  calling 
them  fully  forth  and  giving  them  complete  satisfaction. 
But  in  many  respects,  we,  and  probably  all  creatures,  are 
dependent,  not  immediately  upon  God,  but  upon  other 
things  which  he  has  created  and  placed  in  certain  relations 
to  us,  and  upon  God  through  them.  '^  Every  species  of 
creature,"  says  Bishop  Butler,  ''  is,  we  see,  designed  for  a 
particular  way  of  life,  to  which  the  nature,  the  capacities, 
temper  and  qualifications  of  each  species  are  as  necessary 
as  their  external  circumstances."  And  I  may  add,  that 
their  external  circumstances  are  as  necessary  as  their  ca- 
pacities, tempers,  and  qualifications.  ''  Both,"  he  con- 
tinues, ''  come  into  the  notion  of  such  state  or  way  of 
life,  and  are  constituent  parts  of  it.  Change  a  man's 
capacities  or  character  to  the  degree  in  which  it  is  con- 
ceivable they  may  be  changed,  and  he  would  be  altogether 
incapable  of  a  human  course  of  life  and  human  happiness  ; 
as  incapable  as  if,  his  nature  continuing  unchanged,  he 
were  placed  in  a  world  where  he  had  no  sphere  of  action, 
nor  any  objects  to  answer  his  appetites,  passions,  and 
affections  of  any  sort.     One  thing   is  set   over  against 


384 

another,  as  an  ancient  writer  expresses  it.  Oar  nature 
corresponds  to  our  external  condition.  Without  this  cor- 
respondence, there  would  be  no  possibility  of  any  such 
thing  as  human  life  and  human  happiness,  which  life  and 
happiness  are  therefore  a  result  from  our  nature  and  con- 
dition jointly,  meaning  by  human  life,  not  living  in  the 
hteral  sense^  but  the  whole  complex  notion  commonly 
understood  by  those  words." 

According  to  this  view,  the  highest  idea  we  can  have 
of  the  bounty  of  God  in  his  dealings  with  his  creatures 
would  be — not,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  that  he  should 
give  them  large  possessions  that  should  be  subject  to 
the  control  of  their  will,  not  that  he  should  give  such 
possessions  at  all,  "  For  a  man's  life  consisteth  not  in 
the  abundance  of  the  things  that  he  possesseth," — but 
that  for  every  internal  want,  susceptibility,  faculty,  there 
should  be  its  corresponding  external  object,  by  means  of 
which  every  want  might  be  supplied,  every  susceptibility 
met,  every  faculty  be  trained  to  its  highest  expansion  and 
receive  the  fullest  enjoyment  of  which  it  was  capable. 
The  provision,  with  given  faculties,  of  such  external 
objects,  is  what  we  commonly  mean  by  bounty  ;  and  if 
the  expansion  and  enjoyment  of  the  faculties  would  flow 
from  the  relations  in  which  they  are  placed  spontaneously 
and  without  effort  of  ours,  we  are  apt  to  think  the  bounty 
would  be  increased.  Perhaps  this  would  be  so  in  a 
perfect  state.  Perhaps  it  will  be  so  in  heaven — and 
perhaps  it  will  not.  But  it  is  not  so  here,  and  it  cannot 
be  in  a  world  intended  to  be  a  place  of  probation  or 
of  discipline.  Here  God  makes  the  provision,  but  man 
must  apply  it  in  accordance  with  those  laws  which  He 
has  instituted.  God  makes  the  provision,  and  how  won- 
derful is  it !  How  infinite,  how  varied,  how  exact  are 
the  correspondences  between  the  susceptibilities  and 
powers  of  living  beings,  and  the  objects  around  them! 
In  no  point  of  view  does  the  universe  of  God  present  a 


385 

more  pleasing  object  of  study.  Yes,  God  makes  the 
provision,  and  though  men  should  apply  it  unwisely,  or 
not  at  all  ;  though  they  should,  as  they  do,  pervert  his 
gifts  to  their  own  unhappiness  ;  yet  it  may  still  be  said 
that  ''  The  Lord  hath  dealt  bountifully  with  them." 

We  now  proceed  to  the  assertion  on  which  I  wish 
chiefly  to  dwell :  "  The  Lord  hath  dealt  bountifully  with 
thee.'^  In  illustrating  this,  I  shall  be  expected  to  dwell 
chiefly  on  those  manifestations  of  goodness  which  are 
suggested  by  the  peculiar  occasion  on  which  we  have 
met.  But  these,  as  common  to  us  all,  cannot  so  touch 
the  heart  as  would  those  more  particular  instances  of  the 
divine  goodness  of  which  we  have  had  individual  expe- 
rience. In  these  we  find  the  deepest  and  truest  grounds 
of  thankfulness.  How  aff'ecting  to  some  of  us  must  the 
remembrance  of  these  be !  while  there  is  not  one, 
whether  we  have  wandered  abroad  and  now  returned,  or 
whether  we  have  remained,  who  cannot  adopt,  each  with 
an  application  peculiar  to  himself,  the  language  of  the 
verse  succeeding  the  text  and  say,  ^'  For  thou  hast 
delivered  my  soul  from  death,  mine  eyes  from  tears,  and 
my  feet  from  falliiig."  The  remembrance  of  these  indi- 
vidual mercies  let  us  cherish  ;  and  I  recall  them  now, 
that  that  remembrance  may  lie  warm  about  our  hearts, 
and  give  an  interest  to  those  more  general  instances  of 
goodness  of  which  I  must  speak. 

I  observe  then,  first,  that  God  has  dealt  bountifully 
with  us  in  the  provision  he  has  made  for  our  physical 
wants.  By  this  I  mean,  not  merely  that  we  have  been 
free  from  actual  want,  and  the  fear  of  it, — that  "  bread 
has  been  given  us,  and  that  our  waters  have  been  sure," 
— but  I  mean  the  supply  and  arrangement  of  all  those 
substances  and  agencies  by  which  the  physical  man  is 
brought  to  the  greatest  perfection.  How  great  is  the 
variety  in  the  same  species  of  vegetables  and  animals,  as 
they  are  sustained  by  different  nutriment,  and  are  sub- 
49 


386 

jected  to  diversities  of  climate  !  How  great,  from  the 
same  causes,  is  the  diversity  in  the  races  of  men  ! 
Originally  God  made  of  one  blood  all  nations,  to  dwell  on 
all  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  but  now  we  see  the  dwarfed 
Laplander,  the  small-eyed,  high-cheeked,  swarthy  Tartar, 
the  black  and  wooly  headed  Hottentot,  the  slender  and 
delicately  formed  Hindoo,  the  tall  lithe  form  of  the 
American  Indian,  and  our  own  fair  race  before  whom 
those  Indians  have  melted  away.  Of  these  varieties  of 
the  human  race,  some,  whether  beauty  or  power  be 
regarded,  come  nearer  the  standard  of  a  perfect  physical 
organization  than  others.  Some  climates,  some  articles 
of  food,  some  modes  of  life,  are  more  favorable  than 
others  to  the  full  growth  and  perfection  of  the  animal 
frame.  A  temperate  climate,  pure  mountain  breezes, 
clear  springs  of  water  and  running  brooks,  and  an 
abundance  of  nourishing  food,  which  is  yet  yielded  only 
to  the  hand  of  an  industry  that  fully  develops  and  com- 
pacts and  hardens  the  frame,  seem  to  be  the  chief  condi- 
tions of  its  perfect  expansion.  And  which  of  these  is 
wanting  to  those  who  dwell  in  these  vallies  and  upon 
the  sides  of  these  hills  ?  We  can  indeed  boast  no  supe- 
riority here  over  many  others.  In  some  respects,  and  at 
some  seasons,  others  may  have  advantages  over  us.  We 
hear  them  speak  of  the  sunny  south,  and  of  the  milder 
and  more  fertile  west  and  southwest.  But  the  bounty  of 
God  as  bearing  on  the  physical  frame  is  relative,  not 
merely  to  passive  enjoyment,  but,  from  their  reaction 
upon  that  frame,  to  habits  of  active  industry  and  of 
virtuous  self-denial ;  and  history  furnishes  no  example  of 
a  people  possessing  a  soil  more  fertile  and  a  climate  more 
bland  than  ours,  who  have  not  degenerated  and  become 
luxurious  and  effeminate.  No  doubt  the  landing  of  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  where  they  djd,  was  ordered  of  God.  If 
they  had  landed  at  New  Orleans,  the  result  would  have 
been  widely  different.     Nor  does  it  follow,  because  those 


387 

who  go  out  from  ns  to  regions  of  greater  ease  and  more 
abundant  wealth  say  they  would  not  return,  that  it  will 
be  as  well  for  their  children  of  the  second  and  third 
generations.  But  without  attempting  to  measure  with 
exactness  that  which  does  not  admit  of  it,  we  are  so 
favored  that  I  suppose  there  is  no  where  a  spot,  where  an 
occasion  like  this  would  draw  together  a  company  of 
people  who  would,  on  the  whole,  be  superior  to  those 
before  me,  in  their  physical  aspect  and  organization.  No 
doubt  there  is  room  for  improvement.  The  physical  man 
is  not  here  or  elsewhere  what  it  will  be,  when  men  uni- 
versally shall  learn  and  obey  the  laws  of  temperance  in 
all  things,  the  great  organic  laws  of  God.  But  let  us  do 
this,  and  we  are  within  that  range  of  agencies  through 
which  the  highest  perfection  of  man  may  be  reached,  and 
if  so,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  ''God  hath  dealt  bounti- 
fully with  us." 

I  observe  again,  that  God  has  dealt  bountifully  with  us 
in  granting  us  those  aspects  of  nature,  and  those  influences 
of  society,  by  which  we  have  been  surrounded.  Nature 
and  society — these,  next  to  the  Spirit  and  word  of  God, 
are  the  two  great  agencies  for  callmg  forth  that  higher 
life  of  man,  that  life  of  thought  and  emotion,  of  taste  and 
affection,  which  comes  forth  from  the  lower  animal  life, 
as  the  flower  from  the  stalk  and  the  enfolding  leaves. 
Each  of  these  has  its  appropriate  ofiice,  and  compared 
with  these,  what  is  technically  called  education,  is  com- 
paratively inefficient. 

Man  is  not  thrown  into  the  lap  of  nature  simply  that  she 
should  supply  the  wants  of  his  animal  frame.  No,  she  has 
voices  in  which  she  speaks  to  him,  and  a  countenance 
of  varying  aspects  upon  which  he  may  look.  To  these 
voices  and  aspects  there  are  spirits  that  are  attuned,  and 
the  child  is  to  be  pitied  who  is  shut  out  from  nature,  or 
who  has  not  felt  a  wild  and  unde finable  delight,  as  he  has 
entered  the  deep  woods,  and  heard  the  note  of  the  wood 


388 

bird,  and  gathered  moss  and  strange  flowers  ;  as  he  has 
seen  and  fled  before  the  coming  storm  ;  as  he  has  looked 
at  the  rainbow  spanning  the  heavens  ;  as  he  has  climbed 
the  mountain  top  and  gazed  on  the  wide  prospect  beneath. 
To  such  an  one,  rightly  educated,  there  is  not  a  single 
aspect  or  mood  in  which  nature  can  be  found,  from  the 
quiet  reverie  of  her  summer  noon,  to  the  passion  of  her 
storms  and  tornadoes,  in  which  his  spirit  does  not  sym- 
pathize. 

But  while  nature  has  sounds  of  melody  and  sights  of 
beauty  for  all,  how  diverse  are  those  which  she  presents 
by  the  shore  of  the  ocean,  on  the  level  or  rolling  sea  of 
the  western  prairie,  among  the  wild  and  desolate  rocks  of 
the  White  Hills,  or  among  the  green  mountains  and  hills 
and  vallies  of  our  own  Berkshire  ?  Nor  is  it  possible, 
where  there  is  mental  development,  that  this  diversity 
should  be  without  its  effect  upon  it.  From  the  variety 
of  soil  and  climate  which  it  involves,  this  diversity  will 
not  only  produce  a  difference  in  the  habits  and  ocupations 
of  life,  but  also  in  all  the  associations,  and  so  far  as  the 
conceptive  faculty  is  concerned,  in  the  whole  web  and 
texture  of  our  mental  being.  From  what  can  our  ideal 
world  of  forms  and  colors  be  framed  but  from  the  little 
actual  world  that  surrounds  the  horizon  of  our  childhood  ? 
No  doubt  there  are  those  upon  whom,  from  the  hard 
pressure  of  animal  Avants,  or  the  withering  effects  of 
oppression,  or  from  early  absorption  in  the  rounds  of 
fashion,  or  from  sensuality  and  vice,  the  finest  scenery 
makes  no  more  impression  than  the  shadow  of  the  cloud 
as  it  passes  over  the  rock.  It  is  melancholy  to  hear  the 
author  of  "  Letters  from  Abroad,"  saying,  "  I  have  never 
seen  people  that  seemed  to  me  merer  animals  than  the  Swiss 
peasants  amid  their  sublimest  scenery."  Still,  there  will 
be  those  every  where,  and  where  culture  is  general  there 
will  be  many,  from  whose  minds  the  tinge  and  coloring 
given  by  early  scenes  can    never   be  entirely  removed. 


389 

And  when  these  scenes  are  remarkable  for  grandeur  or 
beauty,  how  strong  is  the  impression  which  they  often 
make  !  How  does  it  become  incorporated  into  our  very 
being,  and  the  love  of  them  become  a  passion  !  So  has 
it  been  in  Switzerland  :  it  has  been  the  Swiss  soldier 
alone  whom  ''home-sickness"  has  unfitted  for  duty  ;  in 
his  regiments  alone,  has  it  been  forbidden  to  play  the  air 
that  reminded  him  most  of  his  native  mountains  and 
vallies.  So  it  has  been  among  the  Highlands  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  so,  to  some  extent,  has  it  been  with  us.  No 
doubt  the  call  for  this  meeting  has  originated,  in  part, 
from  a  yearning  to  behold  again  these  familiar  scenes — 
because  the  hill-side,  and  the  old  house,  and  the  tree  by 
it,  and  the  encircling  mountains,  had  become  a  part  of 
our  being,  and  would  come  back  in  our  sleeping  or 
waking  dreams.  I  know  how  it  is  with  you,  my  brethren 
from  abroad.  You  wanted  to  see  again  these  old  moun- 
tains. How  often  have  I  heard  those  who  have  gone 
from  us  to  the  west,  say  "  how  they  longed  to  see  moun- 
tains." 

And  here  certainly,  in  the  scenery  of  the  county,  God 
has  dealt  bountifully  with  us.  I  am  willing  to  make 
every  allowance  that  ought  to  be  made  for  our  own  feel- 
ings ;  I  am  willing  to  confess  that  this  scenery  is  more 
beautiful  to  us  because  it  is  ours.  I  should  be  sorry  if  it 
were  not  so.  I  envy  not  that  philosophical  generality 
which  would  root  up  all  the  early  green  of  the  soul,  and 
if  there  are  any  here  who  bless  themselves  in  having  done 
so,  I  wish  no  communion  with  them.  But  making  every 
allowance  that  ought  to  be  made,  it  must  be  conceded 
that  in  no  county  in  the  State,  and  in  (ew  in  the  Union, 
will  there  be  found  more  fine  scenery  than  in  this  of  ours. 
On  its  southern  border  we  have  Taghcannic  mountain 
with  its  Bashbishe.  Then  we  have  those  "gray  old 
rocks," 


390 

"  That  seem  a  fragment  of  some  mighty  wall 
Built  by  the  hand  that  fashioned  the  old  world 
To  separate  the  nations,  and  thrown  down 
When  the  flood  drowned  them." 

And  then  we  have  Gray  Lock,  the  highest  point  in  the 
State,  giving  a  view  that  for  vastness  and  subhmity  is 
equalled  by  nothing  in  New  England  except  the  White 
Hills.  And  then  how  much  of  beauty  there  is  in  a  ride 
through  the  length  of  the  county,  whether  it  be  when  the 
green  of  summer  is  in  its  full  freshness,  or  when 

"  The  woods  of  autumn  all  around  our  vales 
Have  put  their  glory  on." 

Probably  most  of  us  have  read,  for  it  used  to  be  in  a  New 
England  school  book,  of  that  journey  of  a  day  that  was 
the  picture  of  human  life.  And  if  it  were  given  to  us  to 
make  the  journey  of  a  day  that  should  be,  not  in  its 
events,  but  in  its  scenery,  the  picture  of  our  lives,  where 
should  we  rather  choose  to  make  it  than  through  the 
length  of  our  own  Berkshire  ?  What  could  we  do  better 
than  to  watch  the  rising  sun  from  the  top  of  Gray  Lock, 
and  his  setting  from  the  Eagle's  Nest  ? 

It  is  in  connection  with  such  physical  conditions,  and 
such  scenery  as  this,  aided  by  our  New  England  institu- 
tions, that  there  has  sprung  up  a  race  of  men  of  whom  we 
are  justly  proud.  Here,  to  mention  only  those  now  in 
office,  originated  the  present  chief  magistrate  of  the  State, 
and  one  of  the  judges  of  its  supreme  court.  Here,  those 
many  distinguished  and  useful  men  from  abroad,  whom 
we  welcome  to-day.  Nor  have  those  been  wanting  who 
have  illustrated  the  literature  of  our  country.  To  say 
nothing  of  others,  it  is  perhaps  remarkable,  secluded  as 
this  county  has  been,  that  the  three  American  writers 
most  widely  and  justly  celebrated  in  their  several  depart- 
ments, have  lived  and  written  here.  It  Avas  in  the  deep 
quiet  of  these  scenes,  that  the  profoundest  treatise  of  our 


391 

greatest  metaphysical  writer  was  produced  ;  it  was  here 
that  the  powers  of  our  "  truest  poet,"  one  who  in  his  own 
line  of  poetry  has  not  been  excelled  since  the  world  stood, 
became  known  and  came  to  their  maturity  ;  and  here  are 
still  entwined,  greener  by  time,  the  home  affections  of  one 
whose  social  qualities  have  given  her  a  place  as  eminent 
in  the  hearts  of  her  friends,  as  her  power  and  grace  of 
style,  and  her  universal  sympathy  with  all  that  is  human, 
have  given  her  as  an  author  in  the  public  estimation. 

But  however  much  there  may  be  in  nature  of  com- 
panionship and  instruction  for  man,  she  yet  does  not  meet 
the  demand,  which  he  cannot  but  feel,  for  sympathy,  and 
affection,  and  rational  discourse.  If  man  may  be  said  to 
sympathize  with  her,  she  cannot  be  said  to  sympathize 
with  him.  If  man  speaks  to  her,  she  does  not  answer 
him.  She  continues  evermore  working  over  and  over 
again  the  same  processes  ;  she  walks  on  in  her  perpetual 
round,  and  heeds  not  the  wants,  or  the  woes,  or  the  joys 
of  her  children.  The  cry  and  the  smile  of  infancy,  the 
laugh  of  childhood,  the  twilight  voice  of  plighted  love, 
the  desolation  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  the  bridal 
party  and  the  funeral  procession,  are  alike  to  her.  She 
heeds  them  not.  Alike  in  the  forest  where  no  eye  sees 
her,  and  by  the  human  habitation,  she  paints  the  flower, 
and  plies  the  "  tiny  shuttle  "  Avith  which  she  weaves  the 
web  of  the  leaf.  When  the  eye  that  has  looked  upon  her 
with  the  most  enthusiasm  is  closed  in  death,  she  does  not 
weep.  Man  needs  something  more  than  this  ;  and  how 
different  from  this  is  that  countenance  of  the  mother  into 
which  the  child  that  lies  in  her  lap  looks  up  !  How  dif- 
ferent from  those  inarticulate  voices  of  nature  which  we 
are  so  slow  to  interpret,  is  her  voice  that  so  early  finds  its 
way  into  all  the  chambers  and  recesses  of  the  soul !  Here 
is  another  world,  which  is  not  only  comprehended  by  us, 
but  which  comprehends  us.  Here  opens  upon  us  that 
great  theatre  of  human  life,  where  the  turbulent  desires, 


392 

the  stormy  passions,  the  thousand  sympathies  and  hopes 
and  fears,  and  the  beautiful  affections,  of  the  soul  of  man, 
are  called  forth. 

But  far  less  diversified  is  the  face  of  nature  in  its  action 
upon  the  spirit  of  man,  than  is  that  of  human  society. 
As  the  land  and  the  water  are  divided  into  continents  and 
oceans,  so  there  are  general  divisions  of  mankind  into 
races,  marked  by  features  differing  scarcely  less  than  those 
of  the  frigid  and  the  torrid  zone.  These  races  are  again 
divided  into  nations,  having  characteristics  which  cannot 
be  mistaken,  and  these  nations  are  subdivided  into  pro- 
vinces, states,  counties,  neighborhoods ;  and  in  each  of 
these  a  nice  observer  will  find,  however  difficult  it  may 
be  to  express  it,  a  difference  of  character,  which  must 
become  a  condition  of  growth  and  a  ground  of  diversity 
for  those  who  are  formed  under  its  influence.  This 
diversity  is  indeed  continued  to  individuals,  so  that  no 
where  do  we  find  a  more  striking  manifestation  of  essen- 
tial unity  appearing  under  the  forms  of  an  infinite  variety, 
than  in  character.  Not,  I  will  just  say  here,  that  I  be- 
lieve it  is  circumstances  alone  that  make  the  man,  but 
the  cause  of  this  diversity  is  to  be  found  in  the  action 
and  reaction  of  the  free  and  personal  powers  and  of  the 
circumstances  in  which  they  are  placed. 

And  if  God  has  deal  bountifully  with  us  in  respect  to 
the  physical  conditions  and  aspects  of  nature,  so  has  he  in 
respect  to  the  great  features  of  that  society  by  which  we 
have  been  surrounded.  These  great  features  are  those 
which  belong  to  the  society  of  New  England.  We  are 
it  is  true  upon  the  border  of  New  England,  but  we  are  of 
it,  and  we  cherish  a  love  for  it  no  less  ardent  than  those 
who  dwell  around  the  spot  where  it  was  first  peopled,  and 
where  its  great  heart  beats.  We  are  of  New  England. 
We  love  her  soil,  we  love  her  institutions,  we  love  her 
people.  We  think  that  the  great  features  of  her  society 
both  presuppose  and  tend  to  cultivate  the  highest  powers 
of  man  more  fully  than  any  others. 


393 

Among  these  are,  first,  that  absolute  equality  of  right 
which  is  declared  by  the  Declaration  of  Independence  to 
belong  to  all — the  right  to  use  our  faculties  and  pursue 
our  happiness  in  any  way  we  may  choose,  so  long  as  we 
do  not  interfere  with  the  rights  of  others.  Secondly,  a 
security  of  every  man,  however  humble,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  this  right  and  of  the  results  of  his  own  labor,  such  as 
has  been  rarely  enjoyed;  which  never  can  be  enjoyed 
under  a  despotic  government ;  nor  under  a  government 
like  ours,  if  the  public  morals  should  deteriorate,  or  agra- 
rian principles  or  mob  law  should  become  prevalent. 
Thirdly,  a  great  practical  equality — the  possession  of  the 
whole  country  by  freeholders  in  farms  of  a  small  or  mode- 
rate size,  and  the  absence  of  any  social  distinctions  which 
can  prevent  any  young  person  from  finding  his  true  po- 
sition. Labor  is  honorable,  and  if  some  are  degraded  by 
ignorance,  indolence  and  vice,  it  is  their  own  fault  or  that 
of  their  friends,  and  not  of  our  institutions.  A  fourth  fea- 
ture, which  is  also  one  of  the  causes  of  those  preceding,  is 
a  universal  diffusion  (theoretically  universal  and  to  a  great 
extent  practically  so)  of  the  education  of  common  schools, 
and,  to  as  great  an  extent  as  practicable,  of  the  higher 
and  of  the  highest  means  of  intellectual  culture.  A  fifth 
feature,  and  one  which  has  been  more  operative  than  any 
thing  else  in  giving  its  peculiarities  to  New  England  char- 
acter, is  the  religious  element  infused  into  society  by  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  which  has  come  down  from  them. 
Of  this  element  the  prominent  characteristic,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  was,  th,e  cultivation  of  reverence  towards  God  and 
the  state,  without  a  nobility  in  the  state,  and  without 
forms  in  religion. 

Berkshire  was  not  indeed  wholly  settled  by  the  descend- 
ants of  the  Puritans,  but  it  was  chiefly,  it  was  sufficiently 
so  to  give  direction,  and  tone,  and  character  to  society. 
In  almost  every  town  there  was  a  Congregational  church 
and  no  other,  and  according  to  the  simple  rites  of  that 
60 


594 

the  people  worshipped.  In  connection  with  this  worship 
there  was  a  deep  and  pervading  reverence  in  society  for 
the  worship  and  the  institutions  of  God.  The  ministers 
of  God  were  reverenced;  the  Sabhath  day  was  rever- 
enced ;  parents  and  the  aged  were  reverenced.  The 
young  were  taught  to  ''  rise  up  before  the  hoary  head, 
and  to  honor  the  face  of  the  old  man."  There  was  great 
purity  in  families,  and  family  government  was  efficient. 
There  the  young  were  not  merely  taught  their  duties 
theoretically,  but,  what  is  of  far  more  importance,  those 
habits  of  obedience  and  of  industry  were  formed  which 
are  necessary  to  make  good  men  and  good  citizens.  Then 
the  laws  were  reverenced ;  they  were  made  by  the  people  ; 
but  the  idea  was  unknown  that  any  irregular  assembly  of 
people  could  be  above  law,  or  that  they  could  abrogate  it 
except  by  constitutional  forms.  With  the  existence  of 
individual  property  and  the  family  state,  it  is  impossible  to 
conceive  of  institutions  of  government  or  of  religion  more 
simple,  or  attaining  their  end  more  effectually ;  and  it  is 
impossible  to  adduce  another  instance  in  the  history  of 
the  world,  in  which  the  principle  of  reverence  has  been 
equally  developed  from  an  intellectual  apprehension  of 
the  simple  majesty  of  those  things,  which  all  forms  are 
intended  to  represent,  and  an  impression  of  which  all 
appeals  to  the  senses  are  intended  to  produce. 

Here  it  is  that  we  find  the  true  dignity  of  the  Puritan 
character.  There  is  that  in  God  and  his  works — as  man 
stands  here  with  the  cope  of  heaven  above  him ;  as  he 
looks  out  into  a  peopled  universe,  and  into  infinite  space ; 
as  he  sees  the  mountains  lifting  up  their  heads,  and  the 
heaving  ocean — which,  in  a  mind  rightly  constituted,  must 
produce  reverence  ;  and  the  same  feehng  is  appropriately 
called  forth  by  the  manifestation  of  magnanimity  and 
goodness;  by  whatever  is  noble,  or  venerable,  or  godlike 
in  man.  Without  this  feeling,  man,  in  this  world  of  God, 
is  like  an  animal  with  horns  and  hoofs  turned  loose  in  a 


395 

well  furnished  and  well  arranged  house.  He  has  no  per- 
ception of  uses  or  proprieties,  and  you  must  either  restrain 
him  by  fear,  or  intluence  him  in  some  way  by  the  grosser 
perceptions  of  sense.  This  feeling  is  then  manifested  in 
its  purest  and  highest  forms,  when,  without  the  interven- 
tion of  any  superstition,  or  merely  human  rites,  or  pomp 
of  art,  man  is  brought  into  the  nearest  and  most  intimate 
communion  with  God  and  his  works,  and  worships  him 
in  spirit  and  in  truth.  With  this  feeling  our  Puritan 
ancestors  were  deeply  imbued.  Rising  above  the  ordinary 
objects  of  ambition,  wishing  for  no  power  except  that 
which  is  connected  with  the  simplest  organization  by 
which  the  objects  of  society  can  be  realized,  they  found 
their  dignity  and  happiness,  not  in  what  they  possessed, 
or  in  the  power  of  their  will  over  others,  but  in  what  they 
were  as  the  creatures  of  God,  in  the  reverent  cultivation 
of  their  affections  as  before  him,  and  in  the  prospect  of 
immortality;  and  thus  they  became,  in  the  great  features 
of  their  character,  specimens  of  the  very  highest  style  of 
man.  Looking  at  a  people,  not  simply  as  possessed  of 
refinement  and  civilization— a  high  degree  of  which  may 
consist  with  heathenism— but  as  truly  cultivated  in  those 
faculties  which  are  distinctively  human,  I  think  the  high- 
est point  is  reached  when  a  pervading  reverence,  and  the 
principles  and  affections  necessarily  connected  with  that, 
are  called  into  action  by  spiritual  objects  and  their  rela- 
tions, with  the  least  possible  appeal  to  the  senses. 

Since  their  day  we  have  made  great  progress  in  the 
arts,  in  refinement  and  civilization,  but  have  probably  re- 
ceded in  that  in  which  consists  the  true  dignity  and  the 
highest  culture  of  man.  God  seems  to  have  raised  them 
up  for  a  special  purpose — to  infuse  a  leaven  into  the  whole 
fermenting  mass  of  this  continent ;  and  as  a  mighty 
wave,  when  the  tide  is  coming  in,  flows  on  far  beyond 
the  rest  and  then  recedes,  so  they,  in  the  agitations  of 
those  times,  seem  to  have  been  borne  up  to  a  point,  which, 


396 

from  the  general  level  of  spiritual  culture  in  the  world, 
could  not  be  retained.  Accordingly  the  ebb  came  ;  per- 
haps it  is  the  ebb  tide  that  is  flowing  yet  ;  but  we  look 
for  a  mightier  movement,  when  the  waters  of  salvation 
shall  rise  and  overflow,  and  lie  as  a  quiet  sea  reflecting 
the  image  of  heaven. 

It  is,  indeed,  the  fundamental  question  of  the  present 
day,  whether  the  principle  and  the  reverence  that  are  ne- 
cessary to  the  greatest  strength  and  beauty  of  society,  can 
be  preserved  in  connection  with  the  simplicity  of  our  civil 
and  religious  institutions.  Men  will  not  be  trampled 
upon,  nor  will  they  have  their  sensibilities  and  their  taste 
outraged.  If  there  is  not  a  general  state  of  things  that 
will  secure  them  against  this,  they  will  retire  behind  a 
standing  army  and  behind  forms.  Relatively  to  certain 
states  of  society,  these  may  be  necessary ;  and  we  ought 
to  choose  them  for  the  sake  of  the  liberty  and  the  religion 
which  may  exist  in  connection  with  them.  But  in  such 
a  state  of  things,  we  should  feel  that  the  highest  ideal  of 
society  was  not  reached,  and  we  should  be  constantly  ap- 
prehensive that  both  liberty  and  religion  would  be,  as 
they  have  so  often  been,  overlaid  and  crushed  by  that 
which  ought  to  nourish  and  protect  them. 

But  whatever  the  future  course  of  events  may  be,  the 
past  is  secure  ;  and  God  has  dealt  bountifully  with  us  in 
permitting  us  to  live,  to  the  extent  we  have,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  such  a  past.  It  has  been  shown,  and  nothing  can 
falsify  the  record,  that  man  may  become  so  capable  of 
self-government — that  is,  of  immediate  subjection  to  prin- 
ciple and  to  God,  both  in  state  and  in  church — as  to  ac- 
complish, as  fully  as  they  have  ever  yet  been,  all  the  le- 
gitimate objects  both  of  the  church  and  the  state. 

Nor  has  this  county  been  behind  the  general  standard 
of  New  England,  or  of  our  own  Stale,  in  the  fruits  which 
might  be  expected  from  such  a  state  of  things.  Here 
there  have  been   general  intelligence,  security,  and  order. 


397 

Here  have  been  churches  that  have  walked  in  the  faith 
and  order  of  the  Gospel.  Here  have  been  Christian  pas- 
tors who  have  done  honor  to  their  profession,  and  been 
models  in  it.  Where  shall  we  find  more  able  divines,  or 
better  pastors,  or  men  of  a  wider  and  holier  influence,  than 
Edwards,  and  Hopkins,  and  West,  and  Hyde  ?  No  where 
has  the  standard  of  ministerial  character  and  acquirement 
been  higher.  Here  too  there  has  been  a  spirit  of  benevo- 
lence most  diffusive,  and  unrestricted  by  a  regard  to  sect. 
It  is  well  known  that  if  means  are  needed  to  carry  on  the 
great  cause  of  education,  or  of  benevolence  generally, 
there  is  no  place  to  which  men  come  with  the  same  con- 
fidence, and  the  same  success,  as  to  New  England.'  It  is 
chiefly  among  her  hills  that  those  streams  rise  that  flow 
over  the  West,  and  over  heathen  lands,  to  make  glad  the 
city  of  our  God.  In  this  respect,  so  far  as  I  have  the 
means  of  comparison,  this  county  hath  whereof  to  glory, 
though  not  before  God.  The  Berkshire  and  Columbia 
Missionary  Society  was  formed  February  21st,  1798,  and, 
so  far  as  I  know,  was  the  first  missionary  society  formed 
in  New  England,  if  not  in  this  country.  The  Connecticut 
Society  was  formed  in  June  of  the  same  year,  and  the 
Massachusetts  Society  in  May  of  the  year  following. 
The  formation  of  these  societies  so  near  the  same  time, 
shows  that  the  spring  had  come  over  the  land  ;  but  the 
fact  that  this  was  formed  first,  shows  that  Berkshire  was 
among  the  earliest  and  most  sunny  spots.  This  society 
existed  and  was  efficient  till  within  a  few  years,  when  it 
was  absorbed  in  larger  societies.  This  was  a  Home  Mis- 
sionary Society,  and  when  it  is  remembered  that  here  was 
formed  the  first  Foreign  Missionary  Society,  and,  I  may 
add,  the  first  Agricultural  Society,  it  will  be  seen  that  im- 
portant movements  have  originated  among  us. 

The  statistics  of  benevolence,  except  in  connection  with 
the  Bible  Society,  I  have  not  the  means  of  ascertaining. 
From  these  it  appears  that  the  donations  of  the  Berkshire 


398 

society  to  the  parent  society,  have  been  larger  than  those 
of  any  other  society,  whether  of  a  county  or  of  a  State, 
with  the  exception  of  the  State  society  of  Virginia,  which 
exceeds  it  by  between  two  and  three  thousand  dollars 
only  ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  four  State  societies  and 
those  in  the  city  of  New  York,  the  whole  remittances  of 
this  society  are  larger  than  those  of  any  society  in  the 
Union.  In  some,  and  indeed  in  most  of  the  States,  there 
are  county  societies  formed,  but  this  society  has  given 
more  as  a  donation  to  the  parent  society  than  the  whole 
State  of  Yermont.  And  these  facts  are  the  more  remark- 
able, when  we  remember  that  all  this  has  been  done  with- 
out any  expense  of  agencies.  The  parent  society  has 
sometimes  been  represented  at  the  annual  meeting,  but 
has  never  had  an  agent  to  traverse  the  county.  I  can 
hardly  suppose  it  would  be,  and  yet  I  know  of  no  reason 
for  supposing  that  the  comparison  would  not  be  as  favor- 
able to  the  county,  if  we  had  the  means  of  comparing  the 
statistics  of  the  other  great  benevolent  operations  of  the 
day. 

This  may  seem  more  immediately  to  concern  those 
who  have  remained  in  the  county  ;  but  I  am  speaking  of 
the  results  of  those  influences  under  which  we  have  been 
nurtured  ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  our  brethren 
who  have  gone  out  from  us  have  been  equally  liberal. 
And  if  we  have  been  blessed  with  the  means  of  giving, 
and  have  been  practically  taught  the  great  truth  that  "  it 
is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive,"  how  could  God 
have  dealt  more  bountifully  with  us  ?  How  much  better 
it  is  to  be  nurtured  among  a  plain  people  who  give  liber- 
ally for  the  objects  of  benevolence,  rather  than  among 
those  whose  resources  are  either  hoarded,  or  spent  in  the 
selfish  ostentation  of  fashion  !  The  heavens  give  their 
rain  as  they  form  it,  and  the  noblest  use  of  wealth  is  to 
dispense  it  as  it  is  gathered,  to  refresh  the  waste  places  of 
the  earth. 


399 

The  features  of  society,  and  influences  from  it,  of  which 
I  have  now  spoken,  we  share  in  common  with  much  of 
New  England.  There  are  others  which  belong  to  us  as 
the  inhabitants  of  Berkshire.  UnUke  most  counties,  Berk- 
shire, having  a  pecuhar  geological  formation,  is  a  place  by 
itself,  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  by  natural 
boundaries  ;  it  has  also  been  a  good  deal  secluded  ;  and 
while  we  have  been  a  New  England  people,  our  business 
intercourse  has  been  with  New  York.  Each  of  these 
circumstances  has  had  its  influence  upon  us,  so  that  be- 
tween us  and  our  fellow  citizens  of  the  eastern  part  of  the 
State,  there  is  a  perceptible  diflference.  To  the  first  two 
circumstances  mentioned,  together  with  the  beauty  of  our 
scenery,  is  owing  that  county  feeling  in  which  this  occa- 
sion originated  ;  and  in  connection  with  these,  if  not  in 
consequence  of  them,  there  has  been  extensively  among 
us  that  happy  combination  of  a  cultivation  and  taste  and 
refinement  no  where  exceeded,  with  genuine  simplicity 
and  heartiness  of  character,  which  gives  to  society  its 
highest  charm. 

But  that  the  whole  influence  of  these  circumstances  has 
been  favorable,  I  would  by  no  means  assert,  nor  would  I 
represent  the  aspect  of  society  as  better  than  it  is.  Seclu- 
sion is  not  always  connected  with  innocence  and  sim- 
plicity. On  the  contrary,  there  may  often  be  found  in 
such  situations,  ignorance,  and  narrowness,  and  inveterate 
prejudice,  and  low  vice.  Small  and  secluded  villages, 
little  clusters  of  houses  among  the  mountains  with  some 
place  where  intoxicating  drink  is  sold,  are  often,  if  we  ex- 
cept the  dens  in  the  cities,  as  wretched  and  hopeless  places 
as  are  to  be  found  on  earth.  These  we  have  had,  and 
still  have.  They  are  as  remote  bays,  into  which  the  cur- 
rent of  reform  and  improvement  sets  back  slowly.  Owing 
in  part  to  the  influence  of  these  places,  we  are  behind 
some  others  in  the  great  temperance  reformation.  That 
cause  has  made  encouraging  progress  here,  and  its  present 


400 

aspect  is  hopeful,  but  I  blush  to  say  that  there  are  still 
those  among  us  who  seem  bent  on  continuing  a  traffic 
which,  in  enormity  and  moral  turpitude,  may  fairly  be 
ranked  with  the  slave  trade.  It  is  owing  in  part  to  our 
seclusion,  also,  that  the  recent  movement  in  favor  of  our 
common  schools  has  been  more  tardy  and  inefficient  than 
it  should  have  been. 

But  while  we  feel  and  regret  these  and  other  evils, 
which  a  strange  or  an  unfriendly  eye  might  notice,  we 
feel  that  they  are  slight  in  comparison  with  the  bounties 
of  Providence  and  the  civil  and  social  blessings  with 
which  we  are  surrounded.     We  still  rejoice  to  feel  and  say 

"  This  is  our  own,  our  native  land." 

These  are  our  fathers  and  mothers,  our  brothers  and 
sisters,  our  wives  and  children,  our  schools  and  churches  ; 
these  are  our  mountains,  and  vallies,  and  lakes,  and 
streams ;  our  skies,  and  clouds,  and  storms ;  and  we  feel 
that  in  casting  our  lot  among  them,  God  has  dealt  bounti- 
fully with  us. 

We  now  proceed  to  the  second  part  of  the  subject,  and 
consider  the  exhortation — ''  Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my 
soul."  There  is,  my  friends,  a  rest  to  the  soul.  Rest, 
rest — O  !  said  one,  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove,  then 
would  I  fly  away  and  be  at  rest.  And  who  has  not  said 
thus ; — at  rest  from  turbulent  passions  and  uneasy  desires, 
from  perplexing  doubts  and  anxious  fears  ;  at  rest  from 
the  annoyances  and  evils  that  come  from  the  misconduct 
of  others ;  at  rest,  not  in  mere  quiescence,  but  in  full 
fruition  : — and  this  rest  is  in  God  alone. 

I  have  stated  in  the  former  part  of  the  discourse  how  it 
is  that  our  enjoyment  arises,  not  independently  from  our 
constitution  taken  by  itself,  but  from  relations  and  cor- 
respondences between  that  and  other  things  which  God 


401 

has  created.  He  has  constituted  a  relation  between  the 
organ  of  taste  and  food,  between  the  ear  and  sound, 
between  the  eye  and  Hght,  between  the  atmosphere  and 
the  lungs,  between  the  whole  animate  and  inanimate 
creation  and  the  capacities  and  wants  of  man  ;  and  from 
these  sources  man  may  derive,  and,  in  proportion  as  he 
conforms  himself  to  the  constitution  of  God,  will  derive, 
a  subordinate  and  temporary  good.  But  as  an  ultimate 
good,  there  is  no  correspondence  between  the  soul  and 
any  created  thing.  In  them  the  soul  cannot  rest.  As 
to  containing  a  true  and  permanent  good,  they  are  all  as 
broken  cisterns  that  can  hold  no  water.  No,  God  did 
not  make  us  to  be  satisfied  with  the  creature.  In  the 
fullness  of  his  condescension,  in  the  richness  of  his  be- 
nevolence, in  the  yearnings  of  his  paternal  love,  he  would 
take  us  to  his  arms  ;  he  proposes  himself  as  oiu-  true  good 
and  final  rest.  It  is,  indeed,  a  pleasant  thing  to  behold 
the  sun  ;  very  glorious  is  he  as  he  cometh  out  of  his 
chamber,  and  bathes  earth  and  heaven  in  his  light ;  but 
upon  the  soul  that  knows  God  and  rests  in  him,  there 
shines  a  light  that  is  above  the  brightness  of  the  sun. 
To  him  there  is  another  morning  risen  upon  the  high 
noon  of  all  created  glory.  That  glory  must  fade.  The 
sun  himself  must  be  quenched  ;  but,  as  the  eye  of  filial 
love  is  strengthened  to  behold  them,  the  splendors  that 
surround  the  throne  of  God  increase  and  brighten,  and 
shall  do  so  forevermore.  Around  that  throne  the  noon- 
tide of  glory  eternally  reigns,  and  as  the  eye  of  the  child 
of  God  drinks  it  in,  his  peace  will  be  as  a  river,  and  he 
will  exckiim.  This,  this  is  my  rest.  Such  is  the  rest  of  the 
soul.     To  such  a  rest  we  are  invited. 

It  is  this  great  and  fundamental  truth — that  there  is  no 
true  rest  for  the  soul  of  man  except  in  God — that  needs 
to  be  proclaimed  at  all  times  and  every  where.  Look 
at  the  restlessness  of  individuals  and  of  society,  look  at 
the  billowy  ocean  of  the  past  as  seen  in  history,  and  wliat 
51 


402 

does  it  indicate  but  that  the  true  rest  of  man  has  not  been 
found  ?  See  the  world  busy  in  letting  down  empty  cups 
into  wells  that  are  dry,  or  drinking  to  "  thirst  again  ;  '^ 
see  individuals  passing  through  all  the  stages  of  poverty 
and  of  wealth,  of  neglect  and  of  distinction  ;  see  states 
assuming  every  form  of  governme  it,  from  the  freest 
democracy  to  the  most  absolute  monarchy  ;  and  yet  there 
is,  and  there  will  be  ''  overturning,  and  overturning,  and 
overturning,"  till  men  find  the  true  rest  of  their  souls, 
and  he  whose  right  it  is  shall  assume  his  spiritual  and 
perfect  reign. 

Yes,  it  is  to  such  a  rest  that  we  are  invited ;  and  how 
aifecting  is  the  motive  by  which  the  invitation  is  urged  ! 
"For  the  Lord  hath  dealt  bountifully  with  thee."  And 
my  friends,  in  view  of  what  has  been  said,  may  I  not 
urge  this  motive  upon  you  ?  How  much  more  when  I 
call  to  your  remembrance  his  Redeeming  Love !  In  the 
reason  here  given,  we  see  how  different  is  the  temper  of  a 
good  man  from  that  of  the  children  of  the  world.  How 
common  is  the  feeling  that  in  our  adversity  we  must  go 
to  God — that  we  will,  when  we  have  nothing  else  left  to 
enjoy,  seek  him ;  but  when  we  are  in  prosperity,  how  apt 
are  we  to  lose  sight  of  God,  and  to  rest  in  the  enjoyment  of 
his  gifts!  This  is  the  great  practical  mistake,  the  infinite 
guilt  of  man,  and  the  world  never  can  be  in  a  right  state, 
till  men  can  not  only  enjoy  God  in  himself,  but  in  his 
gifts ;  till  they  learn  that  the  good  gifts  of  God  are  best 
enjoyed,  and  then  only  answer  their  true  end,  when  they 
lead  us  to  him.  Nothing  can  be  more  utterly  false,  or 
more  disastrous,  than  this  separation  of  cheerfulness  and 
rational  enjoyment  from  the  remembrance  and  the  presence 
of  God ;  nothing  can  more  dishonor  him,  whose  smile 
brightens  creation,  whose  presence  makes  heaven.  But 
thus  is  He  dishonored.  A  necessary  condition  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  world  is  forgetfulness  of  God.  Like  our 
first  parents  in  the  garden,  men  would  hide  themselves 


403 

from  him.  The  consciousness  of  his  presence  in  the 
midst  of  such  pleasures  as  they  choose,  would  be  to  them 
''as  the  shadow  of  death."  His  religion,  the  blessed  reli- 
gion of  Christ,  instead  of  being,  like  the  light,  not  indeed 
always  the  direct  object  of  thought,  but  as  an  element 
pervading  and  irradiating  all  social  intercourse,  is  regarded 
by  them  as  the  antagonist  of  their  chosen  enjoyments. 
Prom  enjoyments  of  which  this  is  the  spirit,  whatever 
may  be  the  form,  men  who  would  be  Christians,  truly 
such,  must  separate  themselves.  They  must  find  God  in 
his  mercies;  when  he  deals  bountifully  with  them,  their 
souls  will  return  unto  their  rest.  They  can  seek  no  en- 
joyment upon  which  they  cannot  ask  the  blessing  of  God. 
They  can  mingle  in  no  scenes  in  which  the  remembrance 
of  him  would  be  unwelcome,  and  they  must  labor,  and 
pray,  and  be  content  to  be  regarded  as  over  strict,  till 
there  is  such  a  change  in  the  moral  elements,  that  reason, 
and  conscience,  and  the  affections,  and  taste,  shall  pre- 
dominate over  the  passions  and  appetites  of  men,  and  till 
men  can  enjoy  the  good  gifts  of  God  as  dutiful  children 
under  the  eye  of  an  affectionate  parent.  It  must  be 
made  to  appear,  it  will  be  made  to  appear,  that  there  is  no 
antagonism  between  the  temperate  use  of  God's  gifts  and 
the  highest  social  enjoyment. 

It  was  in  the  hope  that  this  occasion  might  do  some- 
thing towards  bringing  forward  a  consummation  so  de- 
sirable, that  I  was  willing  to  take  part  in  it ;  that,  in  con- 
nection with  this  sacred  service,  I  was  willing  to  be  the 
organ  of  my  fellow-citizens  to  welcome  home  those  who 
had  gone  out  from  us.  And  this  I  now  do.  Natives,  and 
former  citizens  of  Berkshire,  I  welcome  you — not  to  bac- 
chanalian revels,  not  to  costly  entertainments,  not  to  the 
celebration  of  any  party  or  national  triumph,  but  to  the 
old  homestead,  to  these  scenes  of  your  early  days,  to  these 
mountains  and  vallies,  and  streams,  and  skies,  to  the  hal- 
lowed resting  places  of  the  dear  departed;  I  welcome 


404 

you  to  the  warm  grasp  of  kindred  and  friends,  to  rational 
festivity — to  the  Berkshire  Jubilee. 

So  far  as  I  know,  this  gathering  is  unprecedented. 
More  than  any  thing  else  in  modern  times,  it  reminds  us 
of  those  gatherings  of  ancient  Israel,  when  the  tribes 
went  up  to  Mount  Zion ;  and  if  we  look  to  the  future,  it 
cannot  fail  to  remind  us  of  that  greater  gathering,  of  that 
better  home,  of  those  higher  joys  which  there  shall  be, 
when  "  they  shall  come  from  the  East,  and  the  West, 
and  the  North,  and  the  South,  and  shall  sit  down  with 
Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob  in  the  kingdom  of  God.'* 
With  that  great  assembly  may  we  all  be  gathered. 
Amen ! 


SERMON, 


PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  ANNUAL  CONVENTION  OF  THE  CONGREGA- 
TIONAL MINISTERS  OF  MASSACHUSETTS. 

May  29,  1845. 


For  we  know  that  the  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain  together  until 

now. For  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature  waiteth  for  the  manifestation 

of  the  sons  of  God.— Romans  viii.  22  «fe  19. 


We  live  in  a  universe  composed  of  mind  and  of  matter. 
The  first  of  these,  in  the  divine  nature,  we  suppose  to 
be  self-existent,  infinite,  eternal ;  the  second,  to  be  cre- 
ated, finite,  dependent.  Matter  in  itself,  and  in  its  forms, 
can  have  no  value,  except  as  related  to  mind.  As  thus 
related,  it  may  have  value,  but  mind  alone  has  true  worth. 

Whether  this  point  of  view  could  have  been  reached 
by  the  unassisted  human  powers,  is  doubtful ;  but  it  is 
the  starting  point,  and  one  of  the  fundamental  positions, 
of  revelation.  That  declares  to  us,  that  "  In  the  begin- 
ning, God  created  the  heavens  and  the  earth."  The  time 
was — for  in  our  imperfect  forms  of  speech  we  must 
speak  of  time  when  as  yet  time  was  not — the  time  was, 
when  the  Infinite  Being  dwelt  alone.  O  how  does  it 
rebuke  that  pride  of  reason  which  would  seek  to  compre- 
hend God,  when  we  place  ourselves  at  the  point  when 
the  work  of  creation  commenced,  and  look  back  into  the 
depths  of  that  eternity  which  must  have  been  already 


406 

past !  How  fathomless  those  depths !  Their  secrets, 
what  created  being  shall  ever  know!  But  such  a  point 
there  was,  and  then,  ''  through  faith  we  understand  that 
the  worlds  were  framed  by  the  word  of  God."  "He 
spake  and  it  was  done,  he  commanded  and  it  stood  fast." 
Matter  in  all  its  forms,  in  all  the  modifications  of  which 
it  is  capable,  was  created  by  a  Being  of  infinite  wisdom 
and  goodness. 

We  often  conceive  of  matter  as  holding  the  same  rela- 
tion to  God  that  the  materials  of  the  architect,  ready  pre- 
pared, do  to  him ;  but  it  is  far  otherwise.  It  is  not  by 
accident  that  the  air,  and  the  water,  and  the  earths,  and 
the  fire,  and  light,  and  the  invisible  agents  of  electricity 
and  magnetism  are  constituted  as  they  are.  No,  that  is  a 
very  limited  view  of  the  divine  wisdom  and  goodness 
which  is  ordinarily  taken,  and  which  supposes  that  these 
attributes  are  chiefly  shown  in  the  organized  forms  which 
matter  is  made  to  assume  ;  whereas  there  was  not  less  wis- 
dom and  goodness  in  originally  constituting  and  endowing 
matter  so  that  it  could  assume  and  sustain  these  forms. 
By  an  examination  of  no  part  of  the  creation  may  we  be 
more  fully  impressed  with  the  consummate  wisdom  of 
God  than  by  that  of  the  elements.  It  is  not  merely  by 
the  arrangement  of  materials,  but  by  the  original  creation 
of  matter  in  such  forms,  by  its  very  constitution  and  capa- 
bilities, that  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  God  are  seen. 
All  are  not  only  arranged,  but  were  originally  created  and 
caused  to  be  such  matter,  with  reference  to  the  well-being 
of  a  sensitive  and  a  spiritual  creation. 

With  such  a  view  of  matter  as  created  in  subordina- 
tion to  the  spiritual  world  and  with  a  pre-conformity  to 
its  wants,  we  should  naturally  suppose  that  it  might  reflect 
the  aspects  and  follow  the  fortunes  of  that  world.  We 
might  naturally  suppose  that  where  moral  order  and  the 
highest  form  of  good  reigned  supreme,  there  the  homage 
and  subserviency  of  matter  would  be  manifested  by  the 


407 

repose  of  its  elements,  and  the  beauty  of  its  forms. 
Where  vice,  and  consequent  misery  had  complete  ascen- 
dency, if  such  a  world  there  might  be,  we  should  suppose 
there  would  be  gloom,  and  elemental  strife,  and  forms  of 
horror ;  and  where  there  was  a  mixed  state,  a  state  of 
probation  and  of  struggle,  the  light  however  dim  still 
increasing,  we  might  expect  that  there  would  be  struggle, 
and  alternation  of  condition,  and  diversity  of  aspect 
among  the  material  elements,  and  a  state  of  things  which 
would  be  fitly  described  in  the  words  of  our  text, — ''  For 
we  know  that  the  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth 
in  pain  together  until  now." 

That  there  is  the  general  sympathy  of  matter  with 
mind  of  which  I  have  now  spoken,  I  suppose  to  be 
implied  in  this  passage  of  Scripture  ;  and  I  propose  to 
show  from  it  at  this  time, 

First,  That  the  present  condition  of  the  physical  world 
may  be  said  to  be  one  of  groaning  and  travailing. 

Secondly,  That  this  is  in  correspondence  with  the 
moral  state  of  man. 

Thirdly,  To  show  some  of  the  reasons  why  this 
correspondence  should  exist. 

And  Fourthly,  To  speak  of  the  happy  termination  of 
this  state. 

First,  then,  the  present  condition  of  the  physical  world 
may  be  said  to  be  one  of  groaning  and  of  travail. 

But  is  this  indeed  true  ?  Is  not  nature  permanent  ? 
Does  not  every  circle  in  her  rounds  perfectly  meet  ?  Is 
she  not,  and  as  the  work  of  God  too,  the  object  of 
constant  admiration  ?  Do  not  apparent  disorders  and 
evils,  on  a  wider  survey,  result  in  good,  and  become 
necessary  to  the  universal  harmony  ? 

In  answer  to  these  inquiries,  I  observe  first,  in  the 
language  of  Butler,  that  ''  the  earth,  our  habitation,  has 
the  appearances  of  being  a  ruin."     It  is  indeed  permanent 


408 

in  its  orbit.  Its  relations  to  the  heavenly  bodies  have  not 
been  disturbed,  but  no  one  can  look  upon  its  surface 
without  seeing  that  its  present  state  must  have  been  the 
result  of  forces  that  have  acted,  not  harmoniously,  but 
with  dreadful  violence  and  convulsion.  Here  we  stand 
and  look  upon  a  sea  of  mountains.  Was  it  that  the  solid 
earth  was  once  fluid,  and  was  tossed  as  the  ocean  with  a 
tempest,  and  was  suddenly  congealed  ?  Was  it  that  this 
surface  was  once  even,  and  that  by  the  action  of  internal 
fire  these  mighty  masses  were  upheaved  from  the  centre  ? 
We  can  hardly  form  any  other  supposition  ;  but  in  either 
case  who  can  conceive  of  the  sublimity  and  terror  of  the 
scene,  or  of  the  violence  and  struggle  of  those  agencies 
by  which  such  effects  were  produced  ?  Here  we  see  the 
sides  of  the  cleft  mountain  with  face  answering  to  face, 
and  the  river  running  between  them,  and  if  we  examine 
the  strata,  we  find  them  not  only  upheaved,  but,  perhaps, 
contorted  and"  defiexed.  Here  we  see,  over  a  whole 
continent,  and  on  the  very  tops  of  the  mountains,  the 
rocks  furrowed  so  as  to  show  that  an  immense  body  of 
water  has  swept  over  them,  bearing  huge  icebergs  and 
even  rocks  in  its  course  ;  and  here,  where  the  wheat-field 
waves,  are  organic  remains  which  show  that  the  whole 
land,  not  only  its  vallies,  but  its  wooded  hills,  were  once 
the  bed  of  the  ocean. 

I  do  not  move  here  the  question  of  time.  It  matters 
little  whether  these  effects  were  strictly  the  consequence 
of  sin,  or  were  in  anticipation  of  it — a  preparation,  through 
long  ages,  for  the  dwelling-place  of  just  such  a  creature 
as  man  was  to  be.  It  is  sufficient  for  my  purpose  that 
these  powers,  thus  working,  have  left  their  impress,  and 
a  stern  and  sometimes  awful  expression,  on  the  face  of 
nature.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that,  connected  with  it  all, 
there  is  beauty  and  sublimity ;  but  it  is  only  as  the  rain- 
bow spans  the  thunder-cloud— it  is  beauty  mingled  with 
terror.     Not  such  an  aspect  would  a  world  have  borne, 


409 

which  should  have  been  purely  the  product  of  love  and 
of  skill  careful  for  the  wants  of  those  towards  whom  no 
displeasure  ever  had  been  or  should  be  manifested. 

I  remark  secondly,  that  the  present  state  of  the  earth 
and  the  elements  corresponds  with  this  state  in  which  the 
earth  was  left. 

The  earth  itself  is  not  quiet.  Ever  and  anon  it  gives 
evidence  that  those  forces  which  of  old  heaved  up  the 
mountains  still  slumber  within,  and  when  they  are 
aroused  but  a  little,  the  earth  heaves,  and  literally  groans 
and  quakes.  It  expresses  a  state  of  unrest  ;  and,  if  any 
thing  can,  indicates  either  dissolution,  or  the  coming  on 
of  the  throes  of  a  new  birth.  How  could  the  enormous 
bulk  of  the  earth  more  significantly  indicate  that  it  was 
groaning  and  travailing  in  pain  ?  How  better  could  it 
show  itself  indignant  and  impatient  at  the  thought  of 
bearing  up,  in  the  sight  of  heaven,  such  a  load  of  ingrati- 
tude and  sin  ?  How  better  could  it  testify  its  reluctance 
to  furnish  from  its  stores  the  materials  of  pride  and  of 
lust  ?  Tardily,  scantily,  to  the  hand  of  labor  only,  does 
she  yield  these  materials ;  and  then  she  groans  and  is  in 
pain  at  their  abuse.  But  in  these  expressions  of  discon- 
tent the  earth  is  not  alone.  The  very  air  seems  to  know 
that  it  was  never  made  to  bear  on  its  bosom  the  song  of 
voluptuousness,  or  to  be  breathed  in  profaneness  and 
blasphemy ;  and  it  testifies  its  sense  of  this  abuse  by  the 
wild  shrieks  and  bowlings  of  the  tempest,  and  the  desola- 
tion of  the  tornado.  And  not  only  so,  but  it  collects 
within  its  bosom  the  artillery  of  heaven.  It  utters  the 
low  muttering  and  unfurls  the  banner  of  the  coming 
storm.  It  piles  the  thunder-caps  in  its  dazzling  heights. 
It  musters  and  urges  on  its  thronging  battalions.  It 
covers  the  heavens  with  blackness  ;  it  sheets  them  in 
flame  ;  it  smites  the  earth  with  its  bolts  ;  the  peals  of  its 
thunder  cease  not,  and  it  pours  down  its  hail.  True,  it  is 
the  breath  of  life  to  man,  and  at  times  seems  to  perform 
52 


410 

this  office  with  cheerfuhiess  ;  but  then  again  it  loads  its 
wings  with  the  pestilence,  and  thus  avenges  its  quarrel. 
The  fire,  too,  which  man  compels  into  his  service  in 
fashioning  the  weapons  of  death,  is  not  a  servant  that  can 
be  trusted.  How  does  it  seem  to  watch  its  opportunity 
to  break  loose,  to  sweep  over  the  prairie,  to  range  its  long 
lines  upon  the  mountains,  to  burst  forth  in  the  city,  and 
to  leave  the  habitations  of  man  and  the  abodes  of  com- 
merce a  heap  of  smoking  ruins !  How  does  it  heave  its 
sulphurous  billows,  and  toss  itself,  and  groan  in  the 
volcano  !  So,  too,  the  water,  though  the  servant  and  the 
friend  of  man,  yet  it  finds  its  hour  to  spurn  that  service. 
Is  the  ocean  compelled  to  furnish  from  its  broad  bosom 
the  showers  and  the  dews  which  water  the  earth,  causiiig 
the  blossom,  and  the  fruit,  and  the  fountains  of  water  for 
man  ?  It  too  has  heard  of  his  ingratitude  ;  and  when  it 
finds  him  in  its  power,  how  does  it  toss  and  lift  its  waves 
to  heaven,  and  shake  him  from  itself,  and  wrap  him  in  its 
sea-weed ! 

Thus,  though  the  earth,  and  the  air,  and  the  fire,  and 
the  ocean,  are  the  servants  of  man  ;  though  they  seem  at 
times  to  smile  and  be  cheerful  in  that  service  ;  yet  again, 
their  aspect  is  changed  ;  man  trembles  before  them ;  they 
seem  disposed  to  shake  oif  his  service,  and  though  still 
compelled  to  submit  to  it,  yet  they  do  it  reluctantly, 
groaning  and  travailing  in  pain  together. 

But  it  may  be  inquired.  Is  not  all  this  necessary  to  the 
universal  harmony  ?  Are  not  these  all  real  kindnesses, 
though  bestowed  with  a  forbidding  aspect  ?  Is  not  the 
labor  to  w^hich  the  earth  compels  man  salutary  ?  Does 
not  the  lightning  disengage,  in  its  passage,  materials  useful 
in  vegetation  ?  Does  not  the  storm  purify  the  air  ?  As 
it  lifts  by  its  white  locks  the  wave  that  dashes  the  ship 
in  pieces,  does  it  not  yield  to  the  waters  those  elements  of 
death  which  it  had  borne  on  its  wings  ?  Now,  I  would 
welcome  every  smile  of  nature,  I  would  read  every  bright 


411 

lesson,  and  spell  out  every  obscure  lesson  gf  goodness  and 
mercy,  written  on  her  pages  ;  but  if  she  has  other  aspects 
and  voices,  I  would  see  and  hear  them  too.  Perhaps 
there  is  a  fashion  at  present,  a  form  of  sentimentalism, 
which  leads  some  to  see  only  what  is  beautiful  and 
sublime  and  useful  in  nature  ;  but  surely,  if  it  exist,  it  is 
well  that  we  should  behold  not  only  the  ^^  goodness,"  but 
also  the  "severity,"  both  of  nature  and  of  God. 

But  that  there  is  not  only  seeming  but  real  evil  in  the 
system  of  things  with  which  we  are  connected,  has  been 
the  sentiment  of  the  race,  as  is  evident  from  their  my- 
thologies. Hence,  the  Ahriman  of  Persia ;  hence,  the 
Typhon  of  Egypt,  "  who  tears  his  mother's  side  at  the 
moment  she  is  giving  him  birth,  and  is  afterward  united 
to  Nephthys,  that  is,  perfection,  or  consummate  beauty, 
thus  producing  the  mixture  of  good  and  evil  which  is,  as 
it  were,  the  essence  of  this  world."  Hence,  the  essential 
evil  connected  with  matter  in  the  system  of  Plato,  and 
hence,  too,  the  Demiurgus  of  the  Gnostics.  Nor  is  the 
difficulty  removed  by  any  explanations  or  discoveries  of 
modern  philosophy.  If  they  show  that  in  these  conflicts 
of  the  elements  evil  is  removed,  they  do  it  by  involving 
the  admission  that  there  was  evil  to  be  removed.  Does 
the  storm  purify  the  atmosphere  ?  Then  the  atmosphere 
needed  to  be  purified.  These  explanations  only  show 
that  God  has  confined  evil  within  such  limits  that  it  shall 
not  be  destructive  of  the  system ;  and  they  discover  the 
wisdom  of  those  means  which  he  has  taken  thus  to  limit 
it.  Here  is  the  human  body.  It  has  all  the  wonderful 
mechanism  and  beauty  of  its  original  structure  ;  but  it  is 
sufl'ering  under  an  attack  of  the  gout.  This  is  not  a  fatal 
evil.  The  system  still  goes  on ;  and  not  only  so,  but  this 
very  evil  may,  and  often  does,  prevent  a  fever  that  would 
be  fatal.  Is  therefore  the  gout  no  evil  ?  Will  the  system 
of  him  who  has  it  groan  and  travail  in  pain  the  less  for 
this  ?     Thus,  and  thus  only,  does  or  can  any  physical 


412 

philosophy  elin^i^nate  real  evil  from  the  system,  or  make 
that  which  seems  so  a  part  of  a  higher  harmony.  No :  in 
the  midst  of  all  the  good  with  which  God  has  surromided 
us,  there  is  still  essential  evil.  This  is  the  awful,  the 
unaccountable  fact.  Of  this,  the  physical  system  bears 
evidence  both  in  its  state  and  in  the  working  of  its  agen- 
cies ;  so  that  the  doctrine  of  the  text  is  fully  sustained, 
that  the  whole  creation  groaneth  and  travaileth  in  pain 
together  until  now. 

We  pass  then  to  the  second  proposition,  which  is,  that 
this  state  of  the  physical  creation  is  in  correspondence 
with  the  moral  state  of  man. 

By  the  correspondence  in  general  of  matter  with  mind, 
I  mean  simply  that  every  feeling,  whether  glad  or  sorrow- 
ful, whether  of  remorse  or  of  moral  approbation,  every 
state  of  mind,  shall  find  in  nature  something  that  shall  be 
felt  to  have  a  correspondence  with  it.  I  know  the  mind 
creates  its  own  world  within  certain  limits,  and  gives  its 
own  hue  to  surrounding  objects,  still  there  is  that  in  the 
sunshine  which  naturally  corresponds  with  cheerfulness, 
there  is  that  in  a  lowering  sky  and  in  darkness  which  cor- 
responds with  gloom,  and  so  is  there  a  natural  correspond- 
ence between  every  state  of  the  mind  and  some  aspect,  or 
movement,  or  voice,  of  animate  or  inanimate  nature.  This 
is  a  correspondence  that  is  so  elementary  that  we  regard 
it  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  like  that  of  light  to  the  eye, 
or  of  the  air  to  the  lungs,  it  fails  to  excite  our  wonder  till 
we  begin  to  learn  that  both  in  the  mind  and  in  the  body 
those  adaptations  are  the  most  wonderful  which  are  con- 
nected with  the  earliest  and  most  essential  processes  of 
animal  and  of  mental  life.  How  extensive  and  minute 
this  correspondence  is,  will  perhaps  be  best  seen  if  we  ob- 
serve how  that  part  of  human  language  originates  which 
is  employed  to  express  the  affections  of  the  mind.  It  is  a 
received  doctrine  among  men  learned  in  this  department, 
that  all  words  of  this  description  had   first  a  meaning 


413 

purely  physical,  and  that  this  meaning  was  afterwards 
transferred  to  express  some  affection  of  the  mind  analo- 
gous to  the  physical  condition  or  act.  Whether  this  is 
strictly  and  universally  true  or  not,  it  certainly  is  true  that 
the  great  mass  of  words  of  this  description  are  thus  form- 
ed ;  and  if  so,  then  it  will  follow  that  for  every  mental 
state,  act  or  affection  which  we  can  express  in  words, 
there  must  be  some  analogous  state,  act  or  affection  in  the 
physical  world.  Who  then  can  sufficiently  admire  that 
adjustment  and  correlation  of  parts  by  which  mind  and 
matter  almost  seem  to  be  a  part  of  one  organization  ?  But 
if  this  be  so,  and  if  it  be  proper  to  say  of  man  that  he 
groans  and  travails  in  pain,  then  we  may  be  sure  that 
these  terms  may  be  applied,  without  a  stronger  figure  than 
the  laws  of  language  will  allow,  to  the  physical  creation 
by  which  he  is  surrounded,  for  they  merely  express  a 
condition  of  things  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  a 
whole  class  of  figures,  the  use  of  which  we  cannot  avoid. 
Is  it  then  true  of  the  rational  and  moral  creation  that  it 
groans  and  travails  in  pain  together  ?  This  question,  in  a 
world  like  this,  it  cannot  be  difficult  to  answer.  Let  the 
wrecks  of  nations  whose  governments  have  been  badly 
constituted  and  badly  administered,  answer  it.  Let  the 
groans  of  the  hundreds  of  millions  who  have  perished  on 
the  field  of  battle,  and  the  sighs  and  tears  of  their  widows 
and  fatherless  children  answer  it.  Answer  it,  ye  countless 
hosts,  the  victims  of  idolatry  and  superstition,  who  have 
sought  the  living  among  the  dead.  What  say  your  pil- 
grimages, with  their  paths  bleached  by  the  bones  of  mil- 
lions left  to  be  the  prey  of  the  vulture  and  the  hyena  ? 
What  say  those  who  have  swung  upon  hooks,  and  been 
sacrificed  on  the  funeral  pile  ?  Answer  it,  yes,  come  up 
in  long  procession  ye  who  have  dragged  out,  and  are  still 
dragging  out  your  wretched  lives  in  bondage  under  the 
lash,  and  say  if  ye  have  not  been,  and  are  not  groaning 
and  travailing  in  pain  together  ?     Answer  it,  ye  unnum- 


414 

bered  devotees  and  victims  of  sensuality,  ye  inebriates  and 
licentious,  who  have  eaten  the  apples  of  Sodom,  and  have 
received  in  your  own  bodies  the  recompense  that  is  meet. 
Answer  it,  every  child  of  Adam  who  has  felt  the  thirst  for 
happiness,  and  has  attempted  to  slake  it  at  the  fountains 
of  earth.  Yea,  thou  very  church  of  God,  whose  emblem 
on  this  earth  is  the  bush  that  was  in  the  fire  and  was  not 
consumed — church  militant^  answer.  Here  certainly  we 
find  the  fullest  and  most  intense  meaning  of  the  words  of 
the  text.  There  are  indeed  storms  of  the  elements,  and 
sighings  of  the  wind,  and  groanings  of  the  earth,  and  the 
death  of  the  year,  but  what  are  these  to  the  storms  of 
passion,  and  the  sighs  of  grief,  and  the  groans  of  despair, 
and  the  death  of  man  ? 

Is  there  not  then  the  correspondence  of  which  I  have 
spoken  ?  Would  the  system  be  one  and  harmonious,  if 
there  were  not  ?  And  though  some  distinguished  com- 
mentators have  been  disposed  to  limit  the  application  of 
the  text  to  the  rational  and  moral  creation,  may  we  not 
properly  say  of  the  whole,  that  it  groaneth,  and  travaileth 
together  in  pain  until  now  ? 

1  am  next  to  show  some  of  the  reasons  why  this  cor- 
respondence should  exist. 

Perhaps  one  reason  is  to  be  found  in  what  has  already 
been  referred  to — the  necessity  of  this  for  the  formation 
of  language.  I  would  not  limit  the  resources  of  God,  but 
constituted  as  the  human  faculties  now  are,  it  would  seem 
necessary  if  they  were  to  be  fully  developed,  that  words 
originally  applicable  to  natural  objects  should  be  capable 
of  being  transferred  so  as  to  express  the  whole  range  of 
thought  and  emotion,  and  this  would  be  impossible  with- 
out the  correspondence  of  which  1  have  spoken.  As  it  is, 
we  speak  of  the  light  of  knowledge,  and  the  darkness  of 
ignorance,  and  the  sunshine  of  joy,  and  the  night  of  grief, 
and  the  storms  of  passion,  and  the  devious  paths  of  error, 
and  the  pitfalls  of  vice,  and  we  scarcely  reflect  that  we  are 


415 

speaking  in  figures,  or  that  the  flowers  of  rhetoric,  not 
less  than  the  flowers  of  the  field,  have  their  origin  in  a 
material  soil.  Constituted  as  man  now  is,  we  do  not  see 
how  he  could  have  been  furnished  with  the  symbols  of 
thought,  the  materials  of  language  in  any  other  way. 

But  a  second  and  much  more  important  reason  is,  that 
without  this  correspondence,  the  moral  government  of 
God  would  be  much  impaired  in  its  force,  if  not  destroyed. 
That  this  is  so,  I  think  will  be  made  obvious  if  we  im- 
agine a  state  of  things  in  which  this  correspondence 
should  not  exist.  Let  us  suppose,  man  continuing  as  he 
now  is,  that  there  were  no  lightning,  or  thunder,  or  earth- 
quakes, that  there  were  no  storms,  no  darkness,  no  cold, 
no  deserts,  or  precipices,  or  swamps,  no  poisonous  plant  or 
venomous  reptile,  or  devouring  beast,  in  short  that  the 
earth  were  a  paradise  producing  spontaneously  every  thing 
necessary  and  gratifying  to  man,  that  it  should  wear  the 
smile  of  a  ceaseless  sunshine  and  the  verdure  of  a  per- 
petual spring,  and  who  can  believe  that  any  word  of  God 
threatening  future  misery  to  those  upon  whom  he  was 
thus  continually  pouring  out  his  unmingled  favors,  would 
produce  upon  them  a  salutary  impression  ?  How  could 
he  wean  such  beings  from  such  a  world  ?  How  could 
they  estimate  the  probability,  or  conceive  of  the  elements 
of  "  the  wrath  to  come "  ?  The  providence  and  the 
natural  government  of  God,  if  they  did  not  actually  con- 
tradict, would  yet  have  a  natural  and  necessary  tendency 
to  counteract,  the  efl*ect  of  his  word.  There  would  be  no 
''  Analogy  of  Revealed  Religion  to  the  constitution  and 
course  of  Nature." 

As  it  is,  though  men  so  often  sufl'er,  though  they  see 
themselves  endowed  with  such  capacities  for  suflering, 
though  they  see  the  elements  around  them  which  might 
be  let  loose  to  test  those  capacities  to  the  utmost,  yet  how 
slow  is  man  to  consider  and  to  be  wise  ?  Notwithstanding 
all  the  miseries  of  the  present  life,  and  the  dreadful  and 


416 

humiliating  form  in  which  death  comes  to  man,  how  do 
many  persist  in  seeing  in  all  this  only  the  manifestations 
of  simple  benevolence,  and  fail  to  receive  those  words  of 
our  Saviour  which  speak  of  ''  the  worm  that  dieth  not," 
and  of  "  the  fire  that  shall  not  be  quenched  !  "  And  if 
this  is  so  now,  when  nature  seconds,  with  the  energy  of 
her  mightiest  convulsions,  and  with  an  almost  articulate 
distinctness,  the  utterances  of  the  word  of  God,  how 
much  more  would  it  have  been  the  case  if  she  had  been 
a  fascinating  Delilah  calling  upon  man  to  sleep  in  her  lap? 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  those  evidences  of  goodness  with 
which  nature  abounds  were  withdrawn,  if  she  were  to 
become  more  stern  and  rugged  till  man  was  able  to  drag 
out  only  with  extreme  toil  a  painful  existence,  would  he 
not  hear  in  the  bowlings  of  the  tempest  around  him,  and 
see  in  the  aspect  of  every  thing  God  had  made,  a  contra- 
diction of  those  promises  which  should  speak  of  "  sweet 
fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood "  ?  What  would  he 
know  of  sweet  fields  ?  Where  could  he  find  the  mate- 
rials out  of  which  to  construct  the  image  of  heaven? 
There  would  be  no  likeness  or  affinity  between  his 
present  state  and  that  to  which  he  was  invited,  and  this 
would  be  no  fit  place  for  a  preparation  for  such  a  state. 

But  as  it  is  now,  we  have  the  materials  from  which  to 
construct  both  heaven  and  hell.  We  have  light  and 
warmth,  and  beauty  and  sublimity  ;  we  see  the  bright 
star,  the  flashing  waters,  the  green  fields  and  the  flowers, 
the  pure  gold  and  the  precious  gem,  we  see  the  lamb  and 
the  dove.  We  have  also  the  darkness  and  the  cold,  the 
deformity  and  corruption,  the  fire  and  the  brimstone  and 
the  gnawing  worm,  the  serpent  and  the  vulture,  and  we 
have  only  to  separate  and  combine  these  elements  anew, 
and  the  threatenings  and  the  promises  of  Scripture  are 
realized  at  once.  As  the  earth  was  to  be  a  place  of 
preparation  for  two  difierent  states,  so  it  was  necessary  it 
should  contain   the   image   of    both.     By   the   amazing 


417 

wisdom  of  God,  the  elements  of  these  are  blended 
together  in  a  strange  harmony,  constituting  a  spectacle 
which  has  perplexed  the  mind  of  man  in  all  ages,  and 
which  is  capable  of  no  satisfactory  solutix)n  except  in  the 
light  in  which  we  are  now  viewing  it.  The  good  and 
the  evil,  the  wheat  and  the  tares  grow  together,  and  their 
roots  are  so  intertwined  that  no  human  hand,  no,  nor  the 
hand  of  an  angel,  can  root  up  the  tares  without  rooting  up 
the  wheat  also. 

In  this  view  of  it  then,  the  beauty  and  the  glory  and 
the  joys  of  earth  are  not  for  their  own  sake — they  are 
the  smile  of  Him  who  would  invite  us  to  an  eternal 
home,  where  all  tears  shall  be  wiped  away,  where  there 
shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor  crying,  neither 
shall  there  be  any  more  pain.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
subterranean  fires,  and  whelmed  cities,  and  mildew,  and 
frosts,  and  pain,  for  their  own  sake.  They  tell  us  of  the 
possibility,  may  I  not  say  of  the  probability,  of  an  accu- 
mulation of  the  elements  of  wo,  of  a  state  of  concentrated 
and  unmitigated  evil,  that  shall  be  the  fruit  of  sin.  They 
are  witnesses  for  God ;  they  speak  in  his  name. 

How  easy  is  it  then  to  see  that  the  present  constitution 
of  nature  seconds  the  moral  government  of  God  ?  It  may 
indeed  be  true,  it  is  true  to  a  melancholy  extent,  that 
men  having  eyes  see  not,  and  having  ears  hear  not ;  but 
it  is  also  true  that  when  the  conscience  becomes  aroused, 
when  the  spiritual  nature  is  quickened,  when  man  will 
see  and  hear,  then  nature,  illuminated  and  interpreted  by 
the  word  of  God,  is  full  of  sights  and  of  voices  teaching 
him  a  divine  wisdom,  inviting  him  to  a  peaceful  home, 
warning  him  in  tones  of  terror  to  avoid  the  consequences 
of  sin.  If  a  scene  of  probation  were  to  be  devised,  the 
object  of  which  was  to  convey  blended  invitation  and 
warning,  we  cannot  conceive,  if  it  were  to  consist  simply 
of  material  elements,  that  the  handwriting  upon  its  walls 
should  have  been  plainer,  we  cannot  conceive  that  it 
63 


418 

should  be  more  perfectly  accomplished,  than  it  has  been 
in  the  constitution  of  this  world.  And  if  this  be  so,  then 
have  we  found  a  sufficient  reason  for  the  present  state  of 
things.  Then  have  we  found  its  true  solution.  It  is 
required  by  the  moral  government  of  God  as  exercised 
towards  such  a  creature  as  man. 

If  we  add  to  the  reasons  already  mentioned  the  natural 
fitness  and  congruity  of  such  a  correspondence,  and  that 
without  it  matter  would  be  mere  lumber  of  no  assignable 
use,  but  rather  a  clog  and  an  obstruction  in  the  universe, 
we  may  perhaps  see  sufficient  reasons  why  it  should 
please  God  to  make  the  creature  subject  to  vanity.  It 
was  not  so  originally,  it  did  not  become  so  willingly,  but 
was  made  so  for  a  temporary  purpose  "  by  reason  of  him 
who  hath  subjected  the  same  in  hope." 

And  this  leads  me,  in  the  fourth  place,  to  speak  of  the 
happy  termination  of  this  state  of  things. 

And  here,  as  the  Bible  represents  the  relations  of  man 
to  the  material  universe  as  having  been  changed  by  the 
fall, — for  before  that  he  was  in  paradise,  and  the  ground 
had  not  been  cursed, — so  does  it  now  represent  the  resto- 
ration of  that  universe  to  its  primitive  order  and  glory,  or 
perhaps  to  something  even  beyond  this,  as  taking  place  in 
sympathy  with  a  great  moral  event  called  in  the  text 
''  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God."  This  event  is 
represented  as  the  consummation  of  a  long  series  of 
events,  and  as  the  signal  and  commencement  of  a  new 
order  of  things.  It  is  to  be  referred  to  that  time  spoken 
of  in  the  Revelation,  where  it  is  said,  ''  Behold  I  make 
all  things  new."  For  this  event  the  whole  creation  is 
represented  as  waiting  with  earnest  expectation.  The 
expression  of  the  text  is  very  strong,  and  if  it  had  been 
the  purpose  of  the  apostle  to  magnify  and  exalt  the  event, 
we  do  not  see  how  he  could  have  done  so  more  fully. 
What  an  event  must  that  be,  for  which  the  whole  creation 
has  been  for  so  long  a  time  travailing  in  birth,  to  which  it 


419 

has  looked  forward  with  such  earnestness  and  expecta* 
tion!  Then  will  be  exhibited  the  grand  result  which 
has  for  ages  been  working  out  in  this  mixed  and  most 
perplexing  state  of  things.  That  result  will  be  the  com- 
pleted number  of  the  sons  of  God.  For  them  the  Son  of 
God  had  come  and  suffered  and  died  and  risen  again  ;  for 
them  the  Spirit  had  striven,  for  them  all  nature  had  stood. 
They  will  be  as  the  wheat  after  the  ingathering  of  the 
harvest,  when  the  chaff  is  blown  away.  And  when  the 
whole  number  is  complete,  when  the  last  child  of  God  is 
gathered  in,  "  then  will  the  end  be."  There  had  been  a 
revolted  province  ;  there  had  gone  out  from  heaven  the 
Son  of  God  for  the  recovery  of  those  who  should  be  a 
peculiar  people  ;  for  six  thousand  years  that  province  had 
stood  the  field  of  strife  for  three  worlds  ;  there  had  been 
shed  the  blood  of  the  Son  of  God,  there  he  had  risen 
again,  there  his  angels  had  ministered,  there  his  church 
had  been  persecuted;  there  his  martyrs  had  suffered ;  there 
the  whole  plan  and  purpose  of  God  had  been  set  at  nought, 
and  the  blood  of  his  covenant  had  been  counted  an  un- 
holy thing.  All  this  had  been,  but  then  the  time  will 
have  come  when  the  character  of  God  shall  be  vindicated 
in  a  completed  redemption  ;  when  it  shall  be  gloriously 
illustrated  ;  when  all  murmurings  growing  out  of  this 
strange  state  of  things  shall  cease  forever ;  when  the  sons 
of  God  shall  be  manifested.  These  sons  of  God — where 
are  they  now?  Unknown,  despised,  hidden.  Christ 
himself  was  unknown  and  despised,  and  it  is  sufficient 
for  the  disciple  to  be  as  his  Master,  and  the  servant  as  his 
Lord.  Where  are  they  ?  They  are  scattered  here  and 
there,  perhaps  more  of  them  than  we  suppose,  following, 
in  meekness  and  lowliness,  in  purity,  in  benevolence,  in 
prayer,  through  good  report,  and  through  evil  report, 
their  divine  Master.  Where  are  they  ?  They  are  buried 
in  the  darkness  of  the  grave.  They  have  gone  down  by 
myriads  to  the  tomb,  and  an  unbelieving  world  has  thought 


420 

them  lost ;  but  no,  they  were  only  hidden  there  ;  and  then 
they  shall  be  brought  out  as  the  hidden  ones  of  God  and 
manifested.  Every  one  shall  be  there.  In  the  ingather- 
ing of  the  harvest  of  the  world,  not  one  grain  of  wheat 
shall  be  lost.  Every  true  lover  of  God,  every  sincere 
follower  of  Christ,  however  humble,  will  be  there,  and  it 
will  be  a  part  of  the  purpose  of  God  to  manifest  him. 

And  before  whom  shall  this  manifestation  of  the  sons 
of  God  be  made  ?  We  are  told  that  when  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  were  finished,  the  morning  stars  sang  to- 
gether and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy.  They 
came  to  see — all  the  sons  of  God — this  new  product  of 
the  skill  and  power  of  their  God.  And  will  it  not  be  so 
then  ?  Will  they  not  come  in  from  the  remotest  depths 
of  space,  from  the  farthest  star  that  hangs  on  the  outmost 
verge  of  the  creation  ?  I  would  not  extend  unduly  the 
meaning  of  terms,  I  would  not  make  too  much  of  those 
incidental  hints  which  are  thrown  out  on  this  subject  in 
the  Scriptures ;  but  when  we  remember  that  the  material 
creation,  vast,  and  to  our  limited  conception  infinite  as  it 
is,  is  yet  all  one  system,  bound  together  by  influences 
which  cause  each  part  to  be  dependent  upon  every  other 
part,  and  as  I  may  say  interested  in  it ;  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  questions  involved  in  the  forgiveness  of  sin 
are  among  the  very  highest  that  can  possibly  belong  to 
the  moral  government  of  God ;  when  we  remember  what 
a  transaction  that  was  by  which  forgiveness  became  pos- 
sible, and  the  very  peculiar  and  amazing  manifestations 
which  are  made  through  it  of  the  character  of  God — it 
would  seem  not  unreasonable  to  suppose  ''  that  unto  the 
principalities  and  powers  in  heavenly  places  might  be 
known  by  the  church  the  manifold  wisdom  of  God,  ac- 
cording to  the  eternal  purpose  which  he  purposed  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord  ;  "  and  no  one  can  say  how  wide  may  be 
the  expectation  of  this  event  in  the  creation  of  God. 
And  what  is  thus  accordant  with  reason,  is  confirmed  by 


421 

all  the  intimations  and  representations  of  the  Scriptures. 
They  represent  this  event  under  the  figure  of  a  marriage, 
to  which,  as  we  know,  all  the  family,  in  its  remotest  con- 
nections, are  often  invited,  and  to  which  they  look  for- 
ward. When  such  an  event  takes  place,  no  expense  is 
spared  in  respect  to  outward  decoration.  Then,  whatever 
can  be  commanded  of  the  products  of  nature  and  of  art, 
whatever  can  please  the  taste  or  the  senses,  is  put  in 
requisition.  And  why  should  not  the  whole  family  of 
God  be  invited,  in  the  day  when  "  the  marriage  of  the 
Lamb  is  come,  and  his  wife  hath  made  herself  ready  "  ? 
Why  should  not  the  old  mansion  be  taken  down,  and  all 
things  be  made  new  ?  Why  should  not  the  treasures  of 
the  universe  be  put  in  requisition,  to  make  the  external 
splendors  of  that  day  correspond  with  the  infinite  glad- 
ness and  spiritual  glory  of  the  event  ?  So  the  Scriptures 
represent  it.  In  no  case  does  their  language  intimate 
more  fully  the  participation  and  sympathy  of  the  whole 
creation.  "And  I  heard,"  says  John,  ''as  it  were  the 
voice  of  a  great  multitude,  and  as  the  voice  of  many 
waters,  and  as  the  voice  of  mighty  thunderings,  saying. 
Alleluia!  for  the  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth."  But 
what  is  the  result  of  that  reign,  and  the  great  event  under 
it,  which  is  the  ground  of  these  acclamations  ?  The 
apostle  immediately  adds,  as  a  part  of  the  same  song, 
<'  Let  us  be  glad,  and  rejoice,  and  give  honor  to  him  ;  for 
the  marriage  of  the  Lamb  is  come,  and  his  wife  hath 
made  herself  ready.  And  to  her  was  granted  that  she 
should  be  arrayed  in  fine  linen,  clean  and  white,  for  the 
fine  linen  is  the  righteousness  of  saints.  And  he  saith 
unto  me  write.  Blessed  are  they  which  are  called  unto 
the  marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb."  And  then  how  glo- 
rious is  the  representation  of  that  city  where  this  event 
is  to  be  celebrated,  whose  foundations  are  of  precious 
stones,  whose  gates  are  pearls,  and  whose  streets  are  pure 
gold !     How    then,   shall  they  come,   in   myriads  upon 


422 

myriads,  to  share  in  the  holy  and  joyful  solemnities  of 
this  festal  day  of  the  universe,  and  to  witness  the  mani- 
festation of  the  sons  of  God !  There,  in  radiant  beauty, 
shall  appear  the  redeemed.  To  them,  all  eyes  shall  be 
turned, — not  for  their  own  sake,  but  because,  as  we  are 
told  in  another  place  where  this  event  is  described,  it  is 
the  Saviour  himself  who  shall  "  be  glorified  in  his  saints, 
and  admired  in  all  them  that  believe."  *  Then  shall  he 
<'  present  to  himself  a  glorious  church,  not  having  spot  or 
wrinkle  or  any  such  thing ;  holy,  and  without  blemish." 
Oh,  how  bright  must  that  beauty  be,  which  shall  fit  the 
church  to  be  represented  as  the  brides  on  an  occasion  like 
that !  Who  can  speak  the  joy,  and  wonder,  and  thanks- 
giving, and  praise,  with  which  she  shall  look  back  upon 
all  the  past,  and  look  up  to  her  Redeemer,  and  look  around 
upon  an  admiring  heaven,  and  look  forward  to  an  eternity 
of  love,  and  peace,  and  joy  ?  Surely,  she  who  is  thus 
redeemed  shall  find  no  jarring  external  element — surely, 
she  shall  dwell  in  the  palace  of  God ! 

We  see  from  this  subject,  first,  how  extensive  are  the 
relations,  and  how  dreadful  is  the  nature  of  guilt. 

In  our  present  familiarity  with  sin,  in  our  sense  of  the 
frailty  of  man,  in  our  great  want  of  a  true  perception  of 
the  holiness  of  the  character  of  God,  we  have  but  a  very 
faint  impression  of  what  it  is  for  an  intelligent  and  moral 
being  to  rebel  against  its  Creator.  The  principle  of 
rebellion  is  really  involved  in  all  sin.  This  is  evil  in 
itself,  and  the  only  thing  in  the  universe  that  is  always 
and  necessarily  so.  Give  the  principle  which  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  all  sin,  of  those  which  we  call  small  sins, 
free  scope,  and  it  would  dethrone  God;  it  would  overturn 
the  foundations  of  all  moral  order,  and  make  the  universe 
a  hell.  That  which  would  do  this  is  evil  in  itself,  and 
from  it  all  other  evil  springs.  If  we  suppose  the  universe 
to  have  been  perfectly  free  from  sin  up  to  a  certain  point, 


423 

what  would  have  been  an  adequate  expression,  on  the 
part  of  a  holy  God,  on  the  occurrence  of  the  first  sinful 
act,  however  slight  in  itself — on  the  birth  of  such  a  prin- 
ciple ?  What  might  have  been  expected  from  him  on  the 
occurrence  of  the  first  such  act  in  a  world  which  he  had 
created  ?  It  was  such  an  act,  in  the  apostacy  of  our  first 
parents,  that  came  between  this  world  and  God,  and  has 
caused  it  to  wade  in  an  eclipse,  and  in  disastrous  twilight, 
till  the  present  time.  This  it  was  that  has  caused  it  to 
groan  and  travail  in  pain  together  until  now.  And  when 
we  see  how  great  a  system  this  of  nature  is,  and  that  the 
adjustments  and  balancings  and  combinations  of  its  ele- 
ments are  all  different  from  what  they  would  have  been 
if  sin  had  not  entered,  and  that  the  whole  derangement 
was  consequent  upon  a  single  moral  act,  then  we  see  the 
true  dependence  of  the  physical  upon  the  moral  creation, 
and  that,  in  the  highest  philosophy,  the  fact  oi  guilt  is  the 
great  fact  which  we  need  to  know  in  order  to  account 
for  the  present  state  of  things.  Precisely  how  these 
physical  evils  were  introduced  in  consequence  of  guilt, 
we  do  not  know. 

"  Some  say  He  bid  his  angels  turn  askance 
The  poles  of  earth  twice  ten  degrees  or  more 
From  the  sun's  axle." 

But  whatever  the  physical  cause  was,  the  true  cause  of 
these  disorders  is  to  be  found  in  the  great  fact  of  the 
entrance  of  guilt. 

But  though  it  was  for  the  first  sin  that  the  earth  was 
smitten  with  a  curse,  yet  even  that,  dreadful  as  it  was, 
and  extensive  as  were  its  relations,  did  not  adequately 
express  the  feelings  of  God  towards  guilt.  The  earth 
reeled  under  it,  and  all  its  foundations  have  since  been 
out  of  course ;  but  mercy  interposed,  the  earth  was 
arrested  midway  in  its  fall,  the  mediatorial  system  was 
ushered  in,  and  thenceforward,  if  we  would  look  for  an 


424 

adequate  expression  of  the  feelings  of  God  towards  sin, 
we  must  look  at  the  bleeding  victim  and  the  smoking 
altar,  and  at  what  these  typified,  the  cross  of  Christ.  If  a 
mediatorial,  and  under  that  a  probationary  system  were 
introduced,  then  it  is  plain  that  the  true  feelings  of  God 
in  regard  to  guilt  must  be  suspended  for  a  time  in  their 
direct  expression,  and  the  measure  of  those  feelings  must 
be  looked  for,  not  in  those  consequences  which  come 
under  our  observation,  but  in  that  mediatorial  system. 
It  is  to  that,  while  this  system  stands,  that  God  can  point 
for  the  vindication  of  himself  as  a  holy  God.  While  he 
can  point  to  that — till  this  system'^  is  consummated,  and 
God  shall  be  all  in  all — he  can  carry  on  a  providential 
system,  in  which  his  sun  shall  arise  alike  upon  the  evil 
and  upon  the  good,  and  his  rain  descend  upon  the  just 
and  upon  the  unjust.  But  when  this  kingdom  shall  be 
delivered  up  unto  the  Father,  and  God  shall  be  all  in  all, 
then,  having  never  shown  the  least  favor  towards  the 
wicked  as  such,  he  can  no  longer  continue  to  do  them 
any  good  ,•  then,  it  will  be  ''a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  living  God ;  "  then,  upon  those  who 
remain  incorrigible,  there  will  fall  the  whole  energy  of 
that  expression  by  which  an  infinite  and  holy  God  would 
indicate  his  hatred  of  sin  ;  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  it 
be  fully  seen  how  extensive  are  the  relations,  and  how 
dreadful  is  the  nature  of  guilt. 

Bat  I  observe,  again,  that  we  see  from  this  subject  the 
greatness  of  the  redemption  by  Christ,  and  the  glory  of 
that  gospel  which  we  preach.  The  true  greatness  of  the 
work  of  Christ  is  to  be  found  in  the  manifestations  which 
are  made  through  it  of  the  character  of  God,  and  in  its 
efi'ects  upon  the  intelligent  and  moral  creation.  It  is  a 
moral  and  a  spiritual  glory.  This  is  the  orb  of  its  bright- 
ness. But  this,  as  it  is  in  itself,  we  do  not  readily  appre- 
hend ;  and  though,  in  accordance  with  the  whole  tenor  of 
this  discourse,  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  its  bearings 


425 

upon  the  material  creation  are  entirely  subordinate,  and 
comparatively  unimportant,  yet  it  is  through  them  that 
We  may,  in  our  present  state,  attain  some  of  our  most 
affecting  views  of  what  that  redemption  is  in  itself.  Into 
the  train  of  this  great  event  the  material  creation  seems  to 
fall,  as  the  clouds  into  the  train  of  the  setting  sun  ;  and  it 
is  by  the  glories  reflected  from  that,  that  we  may  gain 
some  of  our  highest  views  of  the  glory  that  excelleth. 
Christ  came  chiefly  to  destroy  the  works  of  the  devil,  to 
put  an  end  to  sin,  and  to  bring  in  everlasting  righteous- 
ness. His  mission  involved  the  principle  of  restoration 
from  a  fallen  state  under  the  government  of  God  ;  and  in 
connection  with  this  we  have  reason  to  suppose  that  all 
there  is  of  restoration  under,  that  government  will  take 
place.  In  the  progress  of  this  mission,  the  material  crea- 
tion was  not  only  subject  to  him,  so  that  he  could  say  to 
the  waves,  "  Peace,  be  still,"  but  it  sympathized  with 
him.  It  is  in  beautiful  harmony  with  the  general  doc- 
trine of  this  discourse,  that  the  rocks  rent,  and  the  earth 
quaked,  and  the  sun  was  veiled,  during  the  agony  of  their 
expiring  Lord  ;  and  if  the  heavens  and  the  earth  thus 
sympathized  with  him  in  his  agony,  shall  they  not  also 
sympathize  with  him  on  the  day  when  he  shall  place  the 
top-stone  upon  the  great  work  of  redemption,  and  all  the 
intelligent  universe  shall  cry,  ''  Grace,  grace  unto  it "  ? 
Since  it  was  through  guilt  that  the  physical  creation  was 
despoiled  of  its  glory,  it  was  fit  that  the  great  Conqueror 
of  guilt  and  death  and  hell,  when  he  made  an  excursion 
into  those  regions  which  had  been  ravaged,  should  elimi- 
nate perfectly  the  elements  of  evil,  and  place  them  by 
themselves  beyond  the  impassable  gulf;  and  should  re- 
store to  its  original  brightness,  and  perhaps  even  more, 
every  thing  which  guilt  had  marred  or  deranged.  It  was 
fit  that  when  Satan  should  be  cast  out,  not  only  from 
heaven,  but  from  all  the  works  of  God,  into  the  place  pre- 
pared for  him  and  his  angels,  and  when  all  his  adherents 
64 


426 

and  abettors  should  be  gathered  with  him,  that  all  the 
consequences  of  guilt — every  trace  of  its  former  presence 
— should  be  obliterated  there.  This,  He  who  is  the  great 
Restorer  shall  do.  Not  the  least  shred  or  vestige  of  all 
the  works  of  evil  shall  be  left,  and  never  shall  there  be 
any  more  any  thing  to  hurt  or  to  offend  in  all  God's  holy 
mountain.  And  what  work  is  there  that  was  ever  under- 
taken since  the  universe  commenced,  that  could  be  com- 
pared with  this  ?  Of  the  work  of  creation,  we  know,  and 
can  know,  nothing.  But  here  is  a  moral  work— a  work 
in  which  means  are  adapted  to  ends,  which  can  be  studied 
— which  has  a  relation  to  all  that  is  most  intimate  and 
essential  in  the  nature,  and  dear  in  the  interests,  of  immor- 
tal beings, — a  work  entering  into  the  counsels  of  eternity 
from  the  first,  and  which  shall  come  forth  in  grandeur 
and  loftier  proportions,  as  the  ages  of  that  eternity  shall 
roll  on. 

Nor,  if  it  could  but  be  fully  carried  out,  would  the  bear- 
ing of  this  work  upon  the  present  well-being  of  the  human 
race  be  less  striking.  Aside  from  physical  suffering, 
which  is  the  consequence  of  guilt,  it  is  guilt  itself,  and 
not  mere  imperfection,  that  causes  the  suffering  of  our 
world.  This  is  the  immediate  cause  of  the  social  and 
political  evils  that  exist,  and  these  evils  will  cease  only 
when  their  cause  ceases,  and  this  will  cease  only  as  it  is 
removed,  in  itself  and  in  its  consequences,  by  the  gospel 
of  Jesus  Christ.  At  this  point  it  is,  my  brethren,  that  we 
are  led  to  feel  that,  while  we  are  laboring  for  the  eternal 
good  of  men,  we  are  also  laboring  in  the  most  effectual 
way  possible,  for  their  temporal  good — that  that  doctrine 
which  we  preach  has  the  promise  of  the  life  that  now  is, 
as  well  as  of  that  which  is  to  come.  At  this  point  we  are 
at  issue  with  the  wisdom  of  this  world.  That  points  the 
finger  of  scorn  at  a  few  unprotected  missionaries,  going  to 
a  heathen  shore,  without  a  knowledge  of  the  language,  to 
remove  the  evils  and  degradations  of  heathenism  ;  but 


427 

how  soon  do  the  islands  of  the  sea,  redeemed  and  taking 
their  place  among  the  nations,  show  that  the  foolishness 
of  God  is  wiser  than  men  !  Human  wisdom  builds  dykes 
and  barriers.  Upon  these,  its  philosophers  and  its  states- 
men have  labored  ;  in  these  they  place  the  hope  of  the 
world.  But,  after  all  possible  labor  and  expense,  how 
often  do  the  waters  of  evil  break  through  and  overflow  1 
We  will  not,  however,  disparage  their  labors.  Let  them 
watch  their  barriers  well ;  let  them  rally  at  every  breach 
to  prevent  the  rush  of  the  waters ;  but  let  them  not  des- 
pise us,  if  we  pursue  another  method — if,  acting  under 
the  direction  of  the  wisdom  of  God,  we  find  our  way  to 
the  fountain-head  of  those  waters,  and  seek  to  dry  that 
up.  Let  us  do  this  as  fully  as  a  perfectly  applied  Chris- 
tianity would  do  it,  and  their  dykes  and  barriers  would 
be  useless ;  let  us  succeed  in  part,  and  just  so  far  the  pres- 
sure upon  them  will  be  removed.  This  is  divine  wisdom. 
Thus,  and  thus  only,  can  any  thing  truly  great  and  good 
be  accomplished  for  human  society. 

And  if  these  things  be  so,  then  how  great  is  the  glory 
of  that  gospel  which  we  preach  !  Is  it  not  indeed  the 
glorious  gospel  of  the  blessed  God  ?  And  here,  my  breth- 
ren, in  the  fact  that  we  preach  such  a  glorious  gospel,  do 
we  find  our  strength  and  consolation.  Whether  I  have 
given  the  exposition  of  my  text  which  its  author  would 
have  given,  is  not  for  me  to  say  ;  but  I  cannot  be  in  a 
mistake  respecting  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  written. 
That  appears  plainly,  from  the  connection,  to  have  been, 
to  encourage  and  strengthen  Christians  under  their  suffer- 
ings, by  showing  the  glorious  results  and  termination  of 
that  system  which  they  had  embraced.  ''  For  I  reckon," 
says  he,  '^  that  the  sulferings  of  the  present  time  are  not 
worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  which  shall  be  re- 
vealed in  us.  For  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature 
waiteth  for  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God."  We 
are  not  indeed  in  the  circumstances  of  the  early  Christians,* 


428 

but  ill  this  day  of  coldness,  and  worldliness,  and  confu- 
sion, to  what  minister  of  the  gospel  who  rightly  appre- 
ciates his  position  and  his  duties,  can  these  supports  be 
unneeded  or  unwelcome  ?  Where  else  can  we  look  ?  We 
are  not  to  expect  the  sympathy  of  the  world,  in  preaching 
this  gospel.  The  world  does  not  approve  of  its  methods, 
and  has  no  faith  in  that  glorious  and  far-reaching  system 
of  which  I  have  spoken.  Those  who  have  been  faithful 
preachers  of  the  truth,  from  the  time  of  Noah,  and  of  our 
Savionr,  downward,  have  never  had  much  of  the  sympa- 
thy of  the  world.  They  have  drawn  their  support  from 
a  higher  source ;  and  we,  if  we  would  preach  the  gospel 
faithfully;  if  we  would  show  that  it  must  wound  before 
it  can  heal,  that  it  is  only  those  who  are  dead  that  it  can 
make  alive, — must,  many  of  us,  not  only  engage  in  a 
spiritual  warfare,  but  encounter  great  external  difficulties. 
To  many  whom  we  would  benefit,  we  must  be  content 
to  seem  as  those  that  dream  ;  from  others,  we  must  ex- 
pect ridicule  and  contempt  ;  our  motives  will  be  misrep- 
resented, and  our  labors  perverted.  Mimy  of  us  must 
labor  on  in  poverty,  and  be  content  to  leave  our  widows 
and  children,  under  God,  to  the  aid  of  that  charity,  the 
means  of  which  we  hope  to  see  this  day  augmented.  And 
how,  under  labors  and  trials  like  these,  when  they  become 
severe,  and  darkness  seems  to  gather  around  us,  are  we  to 
be  supported,  so  that  we  can  say  with  Paul,  "  None  of 
these  things  move  me  ;  "  but  by  consoling  and  strength- 
ening views  of  that  gospel  which  we  preach  ?  How  else, 
when  our  urns  of  light  become  exhausted,  shall  we  have 
them  replenished,  but  by  going  to  the  great  source  of 
light  ? 

But  if  we  do  indeed  apprehend  rightly  the  glory  of  this 
gospel,  and  the  grandeur  of  its  termination, — then  how 
high  the  privilege  of  being  permitted  intelligently  to  take 
part  in  labors  tending  to  such  a  result !  Guilt  it  is,  and 
that  alone,  that  shrouds  the  moral  universe  in  night.    Just 


429 

so  far  as  we  can  be  instrumental  in  preventing  guilt,  or  in 
leading  men  to  Him  who  alone  can  avert  its  consequences, 
we  restrict  the  dominion  and  relieve  the  darkness  of  that 
night.  Sometimes  we  are  permitted  to  see  and  be  en- 
couraged by  the  immediate  and  manifest  effect  of  our 
labors  ;  at  other  times  we  must  walk  by  faith,  and  not 
by  sight,  and  then  we  need  to  realize,  though  for  the 
time  its  beams  penetrate  so  slightly  the  darkness  that  sur- 
rounds us,  that  the  sun  of  that  gospel  which  we  preach  is 
still  walking  the  heavens  in  its  own  brightness,  and  shed- 
ding its  beams  over  the  moral  universe  of  God.  Then  we 
need  to  look  back  to  that  love  of  God  in  sending  his  Son, 
which  found  its  highest  expression  upon  Calvary,  and 
forward  to  the  time  when  the  great  purposes  of  that  love 
shall  be  consummated — when  the  sons  of  God  shall  be 
manifested— when  the  groaning  and  travailing  of  the 
creation  shall  cease,  and,  instead  thereof,  there  shall  come 
up  from  all  the  holy  universe  the  voice  of  song,  saying, 
'^  Alleluia  !  " — when  the  multitude  of  the  redeemed  shall 
listen  to  the  high  praises  of  the  original  dwellers  in  heav- 
en, who  never  fell ;  and  they,  in  turn, 

"  On  their  harps  shall  lean,  to  hear 
A  sweeter  note,  that  ours  shall  bear." 

"  Oh,  may  I  bear  some  humble  part 
In  that  immortal  song  ; 
Wonder  and  joy  shall  tune  my  heart, 
And  love  command  my  tongue." 


SERMON, 


BEFORE    THE    AMERICAN  BOARD    OF    COMMISSIONERS  FOR  FOREIGN 
MISSIONS. 

September,  1845. 


Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain  thee  :  he  shall  never  suffer 
the  righteous  to  be  moved. — Psalm  Iv.  22. 

Scarcely  do  we  find  in  the  Bible  stronger  expressions 
of  anxiety  and  distress,  than  in  the  Psalm  from  which  the 
text  is  taken.  ^'  My  heart,"  says  the  Psalmist,  "  is  sore 
pained  within  me,  and  the  terrors  of  death  are  fallen  upon 
me.  Fearfulness  and  trembling  are  come  upon  me,  and 
horror  hath  overwhelmed  me."  This  distress  was  caused 
by  the  hypocrisy  and  treachery  of  others  ;  especially  of 
those  who  were  professors  of  religion,  and  who  had  a 
high  standing  in  the  church.  '^  For  it  was  not,"  says 
he,  ''  an  enemy  that  reproached  me ;  then  I  could  have 
borne  it ;  neither  was  it  he  that  hated  me  that  did  mag- 
nify himself  against  me ;  then  I  would  have  hid  myself 
from  him ;  but  it  was  thou,  a  man  mine  equal,  my  guide, 
and  mine  acquaintance.  We  took  sweet  counsel  together, 
and  walked  unto  the  house  of  God  in  company."  Some- 
times he  speaks  of  the  cause  of  his  trouble  as  if  there 
were  several,  as  when  he  says,  "  They  cast  iniquity  upon 
me,  and  in  wrath  they  hate  me;"  and  sometimes  as  if 
there  were  but  one.     But  he  was  evidently  surrounded  by 


431 

artful,  malignant  and  hypocritical  persons,  who,  while 
they  professed  great  regard  for  his  welfare,  would  not 
suffer  him  to  pursue  his  duties  quietly,  or  to  be  at  peace. 
''He  hath,"  says  he,  "  put  forth  his  hands  against  such 
as  be  at  peace  with  him :  he  hath  broken  his  covenant. 
The  words  of  his  mouth  were  smoother  than  butter,  but 
war  was  in  his  heart :  his  words  were  softer  than  oil,  yet 
were  they  drawn  swords."  These  persons  were  doubt- 
less types  of  a  class  who  have  been  in  the  church  in  every 
age.  Sometimes  they  have  remained  concealed;  then 
again  they  have  been  drawn  out,  and  become  conspicu- 
ous; but  they  have  always  been  among  the  severest  trials 
of  the  people  of  God,  and  the  greatest  hindrances  to  his 
cause. 

Thus  troubled,  two  sources  of  relief  occurred  to  the 
Psalmist.  His  first  impulse  was  to  free  himself  from  the 
annoyances  occasioned  by  the  wickedness  of  others  and 
the  responsibilities  that  were  laid  upon  him,  by  fleeing 
away  and  remaining  in  soHtude.  ''Oh,"  said  he.  "that  I 
had  wings  like  a  dove ;  for  then  would  I  fly  away  and  be 
at  rest.  Lo,  then  would  I  wander  far  off",  and  remain  in 
the  wilderness."  We  here  see  in  him  those  germs  of  the 
monastic  system  which  belong  to  our  nature,  and  which, 
in  after  ages,  were  so  fully  and  so  disastrously  developed. 
But  better  counsels  prevailed.  Instead  of  casting  oflT  his 
responsibilities  and  fleeing  from  his  troubles,  he  was  led 
to  see  that  there  was  a  God  on  high,  v/ho  was  able  to  sus- 
tain him  under  the  one,  and  to  deliver  him  from  the 
other ;  and  to  go  to  him  in  earnest  and  confiding  prayer. 
"  As  for  me,"  says  he,  "  I  Avill  call  upon  God :  and  the 
Lord  shall  save  me."  Having  thus  found  the  true  source 
of  relief  and  strength,  he  invites  others  to  share  it  with 
him,  in  the  words  of  the  text, — "Cast  thy  burden  upon 
the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain  thee :  he  shall  never  suflfer 
the  righteous  to  be  moved." 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  former  part  of  this  passage 


432 

is  limited  by  the  latter.  The  doctrine,  therefore,  which 
it  contains,  and  which  I  propose  to  illustrate  in  its  appli- 
cation, first  to  individuals,  and  then  to  this  society,  is, 
that  the  righteous^  who  cast  their  burden  upon  the  Lord, 
shall  be  sustained. 

These  words,  so  far  as  they  imply  the  existence  of  a 
burden  of  some  kind,  are  applicable  to  the  whole  human 
race.  There  are  none  who  do  not  find  that  in  their  con- 
dition, or  character,  or  prospects,  or  duties,  which  gives 
them  anxiety,  and  which  may  be  regarded  as  a  burden. 

But  the  burdens  which  are  borne  by  men  are  of  two 
kinds.  There  are  some,  such  as  physical  suffering,  and 
oftentimes  poverty,  which  are  laid  upon  us  by  the  provi- 
dence of  God,  which  we  do  not  at  all  voluntarily  assume, 
and  to  free  ourselves  from  which  it  is  right  that  we 
should  make  the  most  strenuous  efforts.  These  come 
upon  us  as  passive  subjects  of  that  course  of  events  which 
is  ordered  by  God,  and  when  we  cannot  free  ourselves 
from  them,  our  duty  is — not  mere  submission,  but  cheer- 
ful acquiescence,  and  a  full  exercise  of  those  passive 
virtues  which  are  among  the  most  efficient  means  of 
moral  discipline.  We  are  bound  to  believe,  we  do 
believe,  however  unequally  these  burdens  may  be  distri- 
buted, however  mysterious  it  may  seem  that  they  should 
exist  at  all,  that  they  are  all  apportioned  and  laid  upon  us 
by  the  hand  of  a  Father  ;  and  though  we  may  say  at  the 
time,  with  Jacob,  that  all  these  things  are  against  us,  yet, 
if  we  have  a  filial  spirit,  we  shall  find  in  the  end  that 
God  meant  them  unto  good.  The  basis  of  our  submis- 
sion is  our  confidence  in  him,  that  his  government  is 
perfect ;  and  while  we  know  that  ''  he  does  not  afflict 
willingly  nor  grieve  the  children  of  men,"  it  is  ours  to 
feel  and  to  say,  ''  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in 
him." 

But  there  is  another  class  of  burdens  which  belong  to 


433 

us  as  active  and  responsible  beings,  which  are  not  so 
much  laid  upon  us,  as  laid  before  us,  and  which  it  is 
optional  with  us  to  assume  or  not.  These  are  those 
great  duties  of  piety  towards  God,  and  of  reciprocity  and 
benevolence  towards  men,  the  burden  of  which  has  been 
fully  taken  up  and  perfectly  sustained  but  once  in  the 
history  of  our  world.  God  is  carrying  forward  his  pur- 
poses, in  the  accomplishment  of  which  we  believe  he  is 
working  out  the  highest  good  of  his  universe.  In  doing 
this  he  makes  use  of  the  voluntary  agency  of  his  intelli- 
gent and  accountable  creatures.  He  has  made  them 
capable  of  recognizing  and  appreciating  those  ends  which 
he  proposes,  and  of  becoming  intelligently  co-workers  with 
him.  Here  it  is  that  we  find  the  true  dignity  of  man, 
and  the  highest  point  of  union  between  him  an  1  God ; 
for,  as  man  is  great  in  intellect  only  as  he  comprehends 
the  thoughts  of  God,  and  great  in  suffering  only  as  he 
submits  to  the  will  of  God,  so  is  he  great  in  action  only 
as  he  labors  to  accomplish  the  purposes  of  God.  But  the 
present  constitution  of  things  is  such,  that,  in  doing  that 
part  which  God  has  assigned  to  us — which  is  truly  ours — 
in  the  accomplishment  of  these  purposes,  self-denial  and 
suffering  are  often  involved. 

So  far  as  we  can  judge,  if  sin  had  never  entered,  no 
duty  would  have  been  regarded  as  self-denial  or  a  burden. 
Obedience  to  a  perfect  law  would  have  been  perfect 
liberty,  and  the  result  of  this  union  of  liberty  and  law 
would  have  been  a  happiness  limited  only  by  the  capacity 
of  its  subject.  But  sin  entering,  necessarily  became  the 
cause  of  burden-bearing,  both  to  those  who  were  under 
its  power,  and  to  those  who  were  not.  In  itself,  and  to 
those  who  are  under  it,  it  is  the  greatest  possible  bu .den. 
There  is  no  slavery  like  that  of  sin,  and  that  too,  whether 
its  subjects  do  or  do  not  struggle  against  it.  So  far  as 
holy  beings  have  intercourse  with  those  that  are  sinful, 
as  when  the  archangel  contended  with  the  devil,  it  must 
65 


434 

be  a  grief  and  a  burden ;  and  then,  if  any  are  to  be 
recovered  from  the  power  of  sin,  as  it  has  in  itself  no 
recuperative  energy,  whatever  is  done  for  them  must 
originate  in  an  influence  from  without ;  and  the  great  law 
of  the  universe  for  their  recovery,  seems  to  be  that  of 
vicarious  suffering.  Of  this  we  have  the  great  example 
in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  He,  and  he  only,  "  made  his 
soul  an  ofl'ering  for  sin."  He  alone  "  bore  our  sins  in  his 
own  body  on  the  tree."  His  sufferings  only  constitute 
an  atonement,  and  lie  at  the  foundation  of  human  hope. 
Still,  it  was  necessary  that  the  apostles,  and  those  who 
came  afterwards,  should  be  ''  partakers  of  Christ's  suffer- 
ings," and  "  should  fill  up  that  which  was  behind  of  the 
afiiictions  of  Christ."  He  laid  the  foundation,  but  the 
superstructure  is  to  be  carried  up,  and  this  can  be  done 
only  by  the  same  spirit  of  self-renunciation  and  of  burden- 
bearing  which  actuated  him. 

Enlightened  benevolence  is  essentially  and  uncompro- 
misingly opposed  to  all  wickedness;  and  the  more  intense 
the  benevolence,  the  stronger  is  this  feeling.  Let  then  a 
benevolence,  so  enlightened  that  it  is  opposed  to  nothing 
but  sin,  so  free  that  it  is  willing  to  do  all  things  but  to 
commit  sin,  move  forward  to  the  accomplishment  of  its 
purposes  in  a  world  like  this,  and  a  point  will  be  reached, 
even  though  every  thing  be  done  with  the  meekness  and 
gentleness  of  Christ,  where  there  will  be  conflict,  where 
all  the  possible  power  and  art  of  selfishness  and  malignity 
will  be  arrayed  against  it,  and  where,  if  it  goes  forward 
at  all,  it  must  be  into  the  fires  which  the  rage  and  malice 
of  its  enemies  have  kindled.  Let  it  be  now,  that  the 
cause  of  God  requires  it,  and  it  will  go  into  those  fires. 
So  it  was  with  Christ.  He  excited  no  unnecessary  oppo- 
sition. There  was  nothing  in  his  manner  that  justly 
gave  offence  ;  but  by  simply  taking  up  the  burden  which 
his  mission  required,  he  came  under  a  pressure  of  agony 
which  rendered  necessary  every  drop  of  the  bloody  sweat; 


435 

he  came  to  a  point  where  he  must  wear  the  purple  robe 
and  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  where  he  might  not  hide 
his  face  from  shame  and  spitting.  He  came  to  a  point 
where  the  cross  was  laid  upon  him  so  long  as  he  could 
bear  it,  where  the  nails  were  driven,  and  where  the  ac- 
cursed tree,  as  it  was  raised  up  and  fell  with  a  shock  to 
its  position,  caused  every  fibre  in  his  frame  to  vibrate  in 
agony.  There,  suspended  between  heaven  and  earth, 
lifted  up  that  he  might  draw  all  men  unto  him,  he  hung 
for  six  long  hours,  enduring  those  agonies  of  expiring  na- 
ture that  could  not  have  been  greater  and  that  might  not 
be  less.  The  burden  that  was  upon  him  bore  him  down 
to  death  ;  and  at  no  point  could  he  have  withdrawn  from 
it,  so  as  to  spare  himself  a  single  pang.  So  was  it  with 
the  apostles.  They  were  willing  to  become  all  things  to 
all  men,  so  far  as  they  might.  But  not  so  could  the  crest 
of  the  serpent  be  smoothed  down,  and  his  envenomed 
bite  be  prevented.  It  was  necessary  that  they  should 
hunger  and  thirst,  and  be  naked  and  buffeted,  and  have 
no  certain  dwelling-place,  and  be  reviled,  and  persecuted, 
and  defamed,  and  made  as  the  filth  of  the  world  and  the 
off-scouring  of  all  things  ;  and  finally,  that  they  should 
lay  down  their  lives,  as  the  highest  example  they  could 
furnish  of  the  grandeur  of  faith,  and  as  their  strongest 
possible  attestation  to  the  value  of  those  purposes  of  God 
which  they  were  laboring  to  carry  out.  So  was  it  with 
those  ancient  veterans  in  virtue  mentioned  by  the  apostle 
in  the  eleventh  chapter  of  Hebrews ;  and  so  has  it  been 
with  the  martyrs  and  faithful  servants  and  missionaries  of 
Christ  down  to  the  present  time.  These  have  all  recog- 
nized the  great  principle,  that  burdens  were  to  be  assumed 
and  borne,  if  good  was  to  be  done  ;  and  in  bearing  them 
they  have  all  been  actuated  by  one  spirit. 

This  principle  we  must  recognize  ;  this  spirit  we  should 
consider  well.  It  was  not,  properly  speaking,  an  anti- 
spirit.     It  was  a  positive  principle,  striving  after  a  great 


436 

and  glorious  object,  and  going  forward  to  the  attainment 
of  that  in  a  spirit  of  love ;  quietly,  but  resolutely,  bearing 
every  burden  which  the  accomplishment  of  its  purpose 
necessarily  involved.  It  was  not  a  vain  or  ostentatious 
spirit,  for  it  sacrificed  reputation  among  men;  it  was  not 
an  enthusiastic  spirit,  for  the  object  in  view  justified  the 
highest  feeling  and  effort ;  it  was  not  a  fanatical  spirit,  for 
there  was  no  malignity  ;  it  was  not  a  superstitious  spirit, 
for  they  followed  Christ  and  paid  little  regard  to  organiza- 
tions and  external  forms ;  it  was  not  a  selfish  and  am- 
bitious, nor  a  self-willed  and  factious  spirit,  for  they  had 
no  personal  object  to  accomplish,  or  personal  feeling  to 
gratify.  If  they  could  but  preach  Christ  and  him  cruci- 
fied, and  exalt  him  as  a  Saviour  from  sin,  it  was  enough. 
It  was  by  prayer  and  effort  and  suffering  that  the  cause 
of  Christ  was  borne  forward,  and  souls  converted,  in  the 
early  days  of  the  church.  Paul  knew  what  it  was  to 
''  travail  in  birth  "  for  souls,  to  be  in  constant  heaviness 
for  them,  to  agonize  for  them  in  prayer ;  and  wherever, 
since  that  time,  souls  have  been  converted,  wherever  there 
have  been  revivals  of  religion,  there  have  been  those  who 
have  known  what  these  things  mean.  They  may  have 
been  fcAv,  and  perhaps  unknown  ,•  but  they  have  been 
God's  burden-bearers  in  the  great  work  of  building  his 
spiritual  temple ;  and  it  is  because  these  have  been  so  few 
that  that  work  has  gone  so  slowly  forward. 

Our  business  then,  as  individuals,  is  to  follow  Christ 
and  his  apostles,  both  in  the  recognition  of  this  principle, 
and  in  the  spirit  in  which  we  bear  those  burdens  which 
properly  devolve  upon  us ;  and  thus  doing,  we  shall  be 
sustained. 

But  while  we  ask,  as  individuals,  the  simple  question, 
'Lord  what  wilt  thou  have  us  to  do  ? '  and  should  be  ready 
to  do  and  to  suffer  all  that  might  be  required  by  its  true 
answer,  we  are  to  remember  that  we  are  liable  to  assume 
burdens  that  do  not  properly  belong   to  us,  and  to  bring 


437 

upon  ourselves  troubles  which  we  may  properly,  and 
which  we  ought  to  avoid.  The  words  of  the  text  are — 
"  Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain 
thee."  At  this  point  cases  often  arise  which  it  is  difficult 
to  decide.  No  doubt  it  may  happen  that  a  man,  passing 
by  and  observing  men  at  strife,  could  interfere  with  ad- 
vantage ;  and  yet  we  are  told  that  "  he  that  passeth  by 
and  meddleth  with  strife  belonging  not  to  him,  is  like  one 
that  taketh  a  dog  by  the  ears."  It  is  a  great  thing  to  pass 
through  life  wisely,  knowing  our  own  duty  and  doing  it ; 
and  not  interfering  with  those  things  which  do  not  belong 
to  us.  The  character  of  men  may  often  be  tested  as 
much  by  what  they  let  alone,  as  by  what  they  do.  It 
cannot  be  doubted  that  a  large  portion  of  the  burdens 
which  men  take  upon  themselves,  of  the  cares  and  anxie- 
ties which  trouble  them,  are  such  as  they  have  no  right 
to  have,  and  as  are  in  no  proper  sense  theirs.  It  is  not 
the  ambitious,  the  covetous,  the  fashionable  and  worldly, 
pressed  down  as  they  often  are  with  their  burdens,  that 
are  invited  to  cast  those  burdens  upon  the  Lord.  No ; 
God  will  sustain  no  man,  in  the  sense  in  which  that  term 
is  here  used,  under  such  burdens  as  these.  As  I  have 
already  said,  the  last  part  of  the  text  limits  the  first.  It 
is  the  righteous  only  who  are  here  invited  to  cast  their 
burdens  upon  the  Lord;  and  only  as  they  are  righteous, 
that  they  have  any  right  to  expect  to  be  sustained. 

But  as  there  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  reach  and  to 
maintain  as  the  simple  and  unostentatious,  and  yet  ener- 
getic benevolence  of  Christ  and  his  first  followers,  there  is 
a  constant  danger,  even  to  the  righteous  and  those  most 
directly  engaged  in  his  service,  of  turning  into  some  by- 
path which  seems  to  lead  in  the  same  direction,  of  putting 
that  which  is  subordinate  before  that  which  is  primary,  of 
making  false  issues  and  turning  aside  to  vain  jangling ; 
and  thus  becoming  involved  in  perplexities  and  cares 
which  never  could  have  come  upon  them,  if  they  had 


438 

pursued  the  simple  line  of  duty.  Oh,  how  many  of  the 
cares  connected  with  rites  and  ceremonies,  and  with  the 
maintenance  of  sectarianism  in  its  various  forms,  are  of 
this  character !  How  do  these  cares  often  dwarf  the 
growth  and  deform  the  proportions  of  religion  itself! 
And  can  the  burden  of  these  be  brought  to  God  with  the 
expectation  that  he  will  sustain  us  under  them  ?  No. 
They  are  to  be  repented  of,  and  cast  off  altogether,  and 
never  resumed.  The  only  duty  we  have  respecting  such 
cares  and  burdens  is,  not  to  have  them  at  all.  They  are 
all  sinful  in  themselves  ;  and  they  are  injurious,  as  exhaust- 
ing that  energy  which  ought  to  be  given  to  the  support  of 
those  burdens  which  are  truly  ours.  It  is  these  burdens, 
and  these  only,  which  we  have  a  right  to  cast  upon  the 
Lord — not  to  free  ourselves  from  responsibility — for  the 
language  is,  ''  Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  he 
shall  sustain  "—What?  The  burden?  No,  but  ''thee,'' 
The  promise  is  that  God  will  sustain  us  under  our  bur- 
dens, however  heavy  they  may  be,  if  they  are  the  burdens 
of  the  righteous  ;  that  is,  if  they  are  such,  not  as  we  have 
wickedly  and  wantonly  taken  upon  ourselves,  but  such  as 
he  has  appointed  for  us,  and  as  are  assumed  out  of  a 
resrard  to  his  cause. 

But  perhaps  some  one  may  ask  at  this  point,  how  God 
can  be  said  to  sustain  those  who  are  overborne  by  wicked- 
ness, and  who  finally  die  in  consequence  of  their  burdens, 
and  under  their  very  pressure.  How  little  does  such  an 
one  know  of  the  range  of  the  spirit,  and  the  power  of 
faith,  and  the  preciousness  of  the  promises,  and  the  con- 
solations of  God !  I  would  answer  such  an  one  as  Christ 
would  have  answered  one  who  should  have  asked  him  to 
reconcile  what  he  said  about  his  yoke  as  easy  and  his 
burden  as  light,  with  what  he  said  to  the  same  disciples 
of  their  being  hated  of  all  men  and  persecuted  and  killed, 
for  his  name's  sake.  I  answer  in  the  words  of  one  who 
reckoned  that  the  sufferings  of  the  present  time  were  not 


439 

worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory  that  shall  be  re- 
vealed ill  us  ;  who,  while  he  looked  at  the  things  which 
are  not  seen,  could  count  every  affliction  which  was  but 
for  a  moment,  light,  because  it  was  working  out  for  him 
a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory ;  who 
could  say  of  the  Christians  in  his  day,  '^  that  though  they 
were  killed  all  the  day  long,  and  were  counted  as  sheep 
for  the  slaughter,  yet  that  in  all  these  things  they  were 
more  than  conquerors  through  him  that  had  loved  them." 
Thus  we  see  precisely  the  position  which  every  true 
servant  of  God  must  wish,  as  an  individual,  to  take.  He 
must  wish  to  have  the  spirit  of  Christ,  to  put  himself 
under  the  great  law  of  love,  and  then  to  do  and  to  suff'er 
just  all  which  that  law  would  require.  He  would  wish 
to  accomplish  the  greatest  amount  of  good  within  his 
power  ;  and  whatever  sacrifices  or  sufferings  he  might 
make  or  endure,  as  necessary  to  this,  he  would  say,  in 
unpresumptuous  imitation  of  Him  whose  follower  he  is, 
'^  The  cup  that  my  Father  hath  given  me,  shall  I  not 
drink  it  ? " 

And  what  is  thus  true  of  an  individual  Christian,  must 
also  be  true  of  a  body  of  Christians,  associated  for  the 
purpose  of  promoting  any  one  of  those  objects  which  they 
believe  it  to  be  the  purpose  of  God  to  accomplish.  This 
is  the  position  which  this  Board  of  Missions,  and  every 
true  friend  of  this  blessed  cause,  must  wish  to  take.  For 
a  long  time  the  church  neglected  to  take  up  this  burden. 
Awakened  by  the  call  of  Mills  and  his  associates,  our  pre- 
decessors were  aroused  to  a  sense  of  their  responsibility. 
They  put  their  shoulders  under  this  burden.  We  think 
they  were  called  upon  by  God  to  do  it.  We  do  not  think 
that  any  one  of  them — no,  not  even  the  most  devoted 
missionary — has  followed  too  closely  in  the  footsteps  of 
the  Saviour,  or  borne  a  burden  that  was  too  heavy.  If 
Mills,  or  Hall,  or   Evarts,  could  speak  to  us  to-night,  we 


440 

do  not  think  that  one  of  them  would  regret  that  he  had 
labored  or  suffered  so  much.  But  they  have  gone,  and 
have  transferred  the  burden  to  us ;  and  now,  as  we  are 
true  to  our  trust,  our  wish  is  to  do  and  to  suffer  all 
that  God  would  have  us  do  and  suffer,  that  the  gospel  of 
his  Son  may  become  ''a  light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles,  and 
a  salvation  to  the  ends  of  the  earth." 

The  question  then  arises,  what  the  precise  burden  is, 
which  God  would  lay  upon  us  as  a  Missionary  Society. 

The  importance  of  this  question,  and  the  reason  why  it 
presses  upon  us  particularly  at  this  stage  of  our  operations, 
may  be  seen,  if  we  compare  the  present  movement  with 
that  which  took  place  in  the  early  period  of  Christianity. 

When  this  movement  commenced,  it  evidently  had 
something  of  the  spirit  which  actuated  the  disciples  of 
primitive  times.  The  burden  which  was  felt,  arose,  not 
chiefly  from  a  view  of  the  temporal  misery  and  degrada- 
tion of  the  heathen,  but  from  their  wickedness,  and  their 
consequent  exposure  to  eternal  death.  It  was  the  inte- 
rests of  the  soul,  in  its  relations  to  death  and  judgment 
and  eternity,  that  burdened  the  spirit,  and  gave  energy  to 
effort,  and  weight  to  appeals,  and  which  led  men  to  feel 
that  they  must,  at  all  hazards,  preach  "  Jesus  and  salva- 
tion "  to  dying  men.  It  was  felt  that  there  was  a  moral 
pestilence  raging  in  those  regions,  which  was  going  on 
unchecked  to  its  awful  issues,  and  the  cry  of  its  victims 
was  ringing  in  their  ears,  that  they  should  bear  to  them 
the  balm  of  Gilead,  and  make  known  the  physician  that  is 
there.  So  was  it  with  the  primitive  Christians.  The 
love  of  Christ  constrained  them.  Their  desire  and  prayer 
to  God  for  men  was  that  they  might  be  saved.  They 
were  willing — thus  illustrating  the  true  and  only  harmony 
between  a  stern  regard  to  principle  and  a  wise  regard  to 
expediency — to  become  all  things  to  all  men,  that  they 
might  save  some.  It  was  because  the  gospel  of  Christ 
was  the  power  of  God  unto  salvation,  that  they  were  not 


441 

ashamed  of  it.  They  felt  that  they  were  sent  unto  the 
Gentiles,  "  to  open  their  eyes  and  to  turn  them  from 
darkness  to  light,  and  ft'om  the  power  of  Satan  unto  God, 
that  they  might  receive  forgiveness  of  sins  and  inheritance 
among  thern  which  are  sanctified  by  faith  that  is  in 
Christ."  It  was  true,  indeed,  that  their  doctrine  would 
revolutionize  and  radically  transform  society  ;  but  as  they 
looked  with  the  eye  of  faith  upon  the  interests  of  eternity, 
the  relations  and  interests  of  time  dwindled  into  insignifi- 
cance ;  and  with  fearlessness,  with  simplicity,  and  with 
great  power,  gave  they  witness  to  the  central  and  incon- 
trovertible fact  of  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  and  to  the 
freeness  and  preciousness  of  the  salvation  that  is  in  Him, 
and  left  the  event  with  God.  Pursuing  this  course, 
Christianity  was  aggressive  and  triumphant ;  and  con- 
tinued to  be  so  till  the  simplicity  and  grandeur  of  their 
object  were  lost  in  those  questions  which  gave  rise  to  sects, 
and  which  spring  out  of  the  relations  of  Christianity  to 
the  interests  of  man  in  the  present  life.  Then  the  deep 
waters  which  had  begun  to  flow,  instead  of  rolling  on  to 
fertilize  the  whole  earth,  were  drained  off  into  the  marshes 
of  controversy,  and  became  stagnant ;  and  a  region  which 
ought  to  have  been  like  the  garden  of  God,  became  the 
fitting  haunt  of  those  apocalyptic  frogs  which  came  out  of 
the  mouth  of  the  dragon,  and  of  the  beast,  and  of  the  false 
prophet.  And  what  thus  took  place  in  that  wider  and 
mightier  movement,  it  is  to  be  feared  may  recur  in  this  of 
our  day.  As  this  cause  makes  progress,  it  is  found  to 
bear  upon  literature,  and  science,  and  civilization,  and 
commerce ;  and  to  become  complicated,  as  few  would 
suppose,  with  questions  of  church  government,  and  of 
politics,  and  of  social  organization  ;  and  there  is  danger 
that  a  desire  to  promote  civilization,  and  literature,  and 
science,  and  to  remove  directly  specific  forms  of  evil, 
moral,  social   and   political,  will  take   the    place  of  the 

56 


442 

simple  desire  to  preach  Christ  and  him  crucified,  and  to 
save  men. 

The  question  then  recurs,  What  are  the  burdens 
which  God  would  lay  upon  us  ? 

I  have  already  remarked,  that  when  we,  as  Christians, 
undertake  to  promote  an  end,  we  do  it  because  we  sup- 
pose God  intends  to  accomplish  that  end,  and  thus  be- 
come co-workers  with  him.  The  responsibility  and  bur- 
den, therefore,  which  we  assume,  must  be  determined  by 
that  purpose  of  God  which  we  propose  to  accomplish — 
that  particular  result  and  triumph  of  his  truth  which  we 
hope  to  accelerate,  or  to  augment.  But  if,  guided  by 
revelation,  we  transport  ourselves  forward,  and  take  a  po- 
sition where  we  can  look  back  on  the  great  drama  of  time 
as  completed,  we  shall  see  that  the  grand  results  which 
God  has  been  working  out  are  two  ;  one  of  which,  how- 
ever, is  subservient  to  the  other.  The  first  of  these  is  to 
have  its  theatre  on  this  earth,  and  will  involve  the  full 
and  perfect  triumph  of  Christianity  over  every  thing  that 
opposes  itself  to  it.  The  stone  that  was  cut  out  without 
hands,  must  become  a  great  mountain,  and  fill  the  whole 
earth.  ''  The  earth  shall  be  filled  with  the  knowledge  of 
the  glory  of  the  Lord,  as  the  waters  cover  the  sea." 
Sooner  or  later,  in  one  way  or  another,  the  time  must 
come,  Avhen  the  evils  which  now  provoke  the  vengeance 
of  heaven  and  curse  humanity,  shall  come  to  an  end  ; 
when  wars,  and  intemperance,  and  licentiousness,  and 
fraud,  and  slavery,  and  all  oppression  shall  cease  ;  when 
men  shall  show  a  true  love  to  themselves  by  obedience  to 
all  the  natural  laws  of  God,  and  a  true  love  to  each  other 
and  to  God  by  an* obedience  to  all  his  moral  laws;  when 
all  the  energies  of  society,  instead  of  being  wasted  in  in- 
dolence, or  dissipated  and  palsied  by  vice,  or  misdirected 
by  ambition,  shall  be  called  out  under  the  direction  of  a 
science  that  can  avail  itself  of  the  agencies  of  nature  in 
a  way  now  wholly  unknown,  and  shall  be  employed  in 


443 

beautifying  the  earth  and  adding  to  the  comforts  of 
man ;  when  family  jars,  and  sectarian  zeal,  and  party 
spirit  shall  cease ;  and,  through  the  transforming  influence 
of  Christianity,  there  shall  be  a  condition  of  society  as 
perfect  as  we  can  conceive  of  in  the  present  state  ;  when 
the  kingdom  of  God  shall  be  set  up,  and  his  will  shall  be 
done  on  the  earth.  It  is  from  partial  glimpses  of  this 
state,  and  an  attempt  to  remove  particular  evils  which  are 
supposed  to  be  the  chief  obstacle  in  the  way  of  its  advent, 
without  any  perception  of  the  deep-seated  and  radical 
difficulty  in  the  very  nature  of  man,  which  nothing  but 
the  religion  of  Christ  can  remove — the  plague-spot  that 
his  blood  alone  can  cleanse — that  there  are  so  many  re- 
formers of  the  world  crying,  Lo  here  !  and  lo  there ! 
whom  we  are  not  to  go  after  nor  to  follow. 

But  if  it  is  specifically  for  this  state  that  we  are  to 
labor,  then  we  can  make  no  difference  between  what  is, 
and  what  is  not,  missionary  ground.  There  is  no  city, 
or  village,  or  family,  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  where  this 
state  is  commenced ;  and  when  we  look  at  nominal 
Christendom,  and  see  how  utterly  alien  from  the  spirit  of 
Christ  are  its  general  maxims  and  its  current  of  feeling ; 
how  its  energies  and  resources  flow  in  channels  that  were 
never  marked  out  by  the  finger  of  God,  and  that  the  little 
portion  of  those  energies  and  resources  that  is  devoted  to 
Him  and  his  service,  is  but  as  the  light  mist  which  as- 
cends from  the  surface  of  the  river,  to  the  great  body  of 
its  waters  ;  when  we  see  its  religious  divisions  and  ani- 
mosities, and  these  too  growing  more  broad  and  inveterate, 
and  its  deep-seated  moral  corruptions  ;  when  we  see  how 
much  there  is  of  faithful  preaching  of  the  gospel,  and  how 
general  and  systematic  is  its  rejection ;  we  feel  that  there 
is  on  every  side  of  us  a  call  for  Christian  labor,  and  that, 
unless  there  shall  be  brought  about  another  proportion  al- 
together of  the  aggressive  and  the  resisting  forces,  the 
new  order  of  things  can  never  come.     To  labor  for  the 


AAA 

J.'  X'  J.' 

accomplishment  of  this  object  in  his  family  and  neighbor- 
hood, is  the  business  of  every  individual  Christian  ;  it  is 
the  business  of  every  church  to  labor  for  it  in  its  vicinity; 
and  in  doing  this  there  is  no  vice  or  form  of  evil  which 
they  must  not  approach  and  attempt  to  remove ;  not  a 
weed,  great  or  small,  is  to  be  left  standing  in  the  garden 
of  God.  But  this  is  not  missionary  labor ;  it  is  but  as 
the  farming  and  gardening  of  our  thickly  settled  States, 
while  the  axe  of  the  missionary  startles  the  ear  of  silence 
in  the  unbroken  forest. 

But  there  is  another  result  which  God  has  in  view,  to 
which  this,  of  which  I  have  now  spoken,  is  but  as  the 
•widening  of  the  river  at  its  mouth,  to  the  ocean  into 
which  it  flows.  This  is  that  which  lies  beyond  the 
general  judgment.  This,  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear 
heard,  nor  hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  con- 
ceive. Every  thing  relating  to  this  is  vast  beyond  our 
thought.  Those  simple  words,  "  Eternal  life  ; "  those 
words  of  our  Saviour,  ''  Then  shall  the  righteous  shine 
forth  as  the  sun  in  the  kingdom  of  their  Father ; "  the 
capacities  of  the  soul,  and  the  endless  duration  upon 
which  it  enters ;  the  joy  of  angels  on  the  conversion  of 
one  sinner  ;  the  coming  and  sutferings  and  death  of  the 
Son  of  God — all  show  that  this  result,  even  in  the  case  of 
a  single  soul,  far  transcends  our  conceptions.  It  is  salva- 
tion !  "  Salvation  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus,  with  eternal 
glory" — salvation  through  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  !  And 
then,  when  we  look  at  the  numbers  without  number  of 
the  redeemed,  every  one  of  them  circling  nearer  and 
nearer  the  eternal  throne,  till  he  is  lost  in  a  brightness 
which  our  present  vision  cannot  penetrate  ;  and  at  the 
wonderful  revelation  of  the  glory  of  God,  of  his  mingled 
justice  and  mercy,  which  is  made,  and  shall  be  forever,  in 
every  one  of  these — we  see  a  result  worthy  of  this  strange 
scene  of  six  thousand  years  ;  of  its  central  figure,  the  cross 
of  Christ;  and  of  its  closing  scenes,  the  final  conflagration, 
and  the  general  judgment. 


445 

Now  every  soul  that  becomes  a  partaker  of  this  salva- 
tion, though  he  may  have  contributed  nothing  to  the  per- 
fection of  society  on  earth, — though,  like  the  dying  thief, 
it  may  have  been  in  the  hour  of  his  last  agony  that  he 
turned  an  eye  of  faith  upon  a  crucified  Redeemer, — will 
yet  swell  the  glory  of  that  result. 

It  was  this  salvation,  that  he,  whom,  without  irrever- 
ence, we  may  call  the  First  Great  Missionary,  came  from 
heaven  to  provide  and  to  publish  ;  it  is  the  fact  that 
there  is  such  a  salvation,  that  lies  at  the  root  of  missions, 
and  supplies  the  circulating  sap  of  all  their  vitality.  This 
salvation  it  is  our  business,  as  a  missionary  society,  to 
make  known  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  preach  it  to 
every  creature,  to  proclaim  it  in  every  place,  till  the  mes- 
sage shall  find  such  a  lodgment  as  to  give  us  assurance 
that  it  will  continue  to  be  proclaimed  there  ;  and  then, 
having,  like  the  great  apostle,  no  more  place  in  those 
parts,  to  pass' on  to  places  where  Christ  has  not  been 
named.  Certainly  there  ought  to  be  an  agency  for  pro- 
claiming these  glad  tidings  every  where,  simply  as 
tidings,  to  all  classes  of  men,  however  wicked  and  de- 
based ;  and  giving  them  an  opportunity  to  embrace  this 
salvation,  without  waiting  to  perfect  society,  or  to  adjust 
the  nicer  questions  of  theological  controversy.  Certainly, 
for  the  sake  of  the  church  itself,  there  should  be  enter- 
prises like  this  ;  in  which  Christians,  who  may  still  differ 
in  many  things,  may  unite,  as  brethren,  their  prayers  and 
eff*orts ;  and  which  may  be  as  cope-stones  along  the  arch 
of  the  spiritual  temple,  where  the  tracery  that  springs 
from  different  points  and  adorns  its  sides,  may  intertwine 
its  branches,  and  give  unity  and  symmetry  to  the  whole. 
This  gives  us  the  'distinction  between  missionary  labor 
and  all  other ;  this  gives  us  our  principle,  however  diffi- 
cult, in  particular  cases,  its  application  may  be. 

Our  object  thus  being  the  salvation  of  men,  the  burden 
which  rests  upon  us,  is  not  simply  a  proclamation  of  the 


446 

gospel  among  the  heathen,  hut  such  a  proclamation  of  it 
as  shall  save  the  soul.  If  we  fail  of  this,  we  fail  of  our 
object  altogether.  I  do  not  say  that  we  do  no  good,  but 
we  fail  of  the  object  we  have  in  view — of  that  which  is 
the  very  soul  of  our  enterprise.  We  are  not  a  society  for 
promoting  civilization,  or  literature,  or  the  arts ;  but  for 
saving  men  ;  and  the  great  reason  why  this  is  not  more 
fully  accomplished,  is  because  our  missionaries  and  our 
Board,  and  the  Christian  public  who  act  with  us,  are  not 
more  ready  to  take  up  just  the  burden  that  is  necessary 
to  accomplish  this.  This  is  not  the  giving  of  money. 
Money  cannot  convert  a  soul.  Any  amount  of  this  may 
be  given,  and  nothing  be  effected,  except  that  a  certain 
sum  has  changed  hands.  Money  !  why  the  heathen  give 
far  more  money  for  the  support  of  the  pomps  and  follies 
of  their  religions,  than  we  do  for  the  spread  of  ours.  It 
is  not  the  establishment  of  seminaries,  or  of  printirig- 
presses,  or  of  any  external  apparatus.  No  ;  but  it  is  that 
constraining  love  of  Christ,  and  that  sense  of  the  infinite 
value  of  salvation,  which  leads  the  missionary  to  preach 
the  word,  in  season  and  out  of  season  ;  to  testify  publicly 
and  from  house  to  house  of  the  grace  of  God  ;  which 
would  lead  our  missionary  boards  and  the  Christian  public 
to  sympathize  with  their  missionaries  in  these  feelings, 
and  to  sustain  them  constantly  in  the  arms  of  faith  and  of 
prayer ;  which  would  fill  the  monthly  concerts  all  over 
the  land,  and  cause  those  who  were  there  to  plead  ear- 
nestly with  God,  and,  like  Jacob,  say  to  him,  '  We  will 
not  let  thee  go,  except  thou  bless  us.'  It  is  one  thing  to 
give  money,  and  print  reports,  and  go  across  the  ocean 
and  establish  a  station,  and  print  books,  and  tell  them 
something  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  how  it  ditfers 
from  theirs  ;  and  quite  another  to  go  to  them  as  Brainerd 
did  to  his  poor  Indians,  as  those  who  are  under  the  wrath 
of  God,  who  must  accept  of  his  mercy  in  Christ  or  perish  ; 
and  by  the  very  agony  of  prayer,  cuid  the  earnestness  oi 


447 

preaching  connected  with  it,  to  be  the  means  of  such  out- 
pourings of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  of  such  manifest  and 
surprising  conversions  to  God.  Those  Indians  have  pro- 
bably had  no  agency  in  perfecting  society  upon  earth  ; 
their  very  tribes  have  perished  ;  but  they  now  shine  as 
stars  in  the  crown  of  their  Redeemer ;  and  those  conver- 
sions were  worth  more  than  all  the  results  of  great  meet- 
ings, and  speeches,  and  munificent  donations,  from  which 
the  spirit  of  praye'r  and  of  God  is  absent,  and  which  are 
not  connected  with  the  salvation  of  the  soul.  There  was 
connected  with  them  more  true  missionary  labor. 

That  we  have  failed,  and  that  this  has  been  our  great 
failure,  of  taking  up  this  burden  as  we  ought,  there  can 
be  no  doubt.  Whether  wrong  principles  have  in  any 
case  been  adopted  in  pursuing  things  incidental  too  much, 
I  cannot  say ;  but  they  certainly  have  been  pursued  too 
exclusively.  There  has  been  a  withdrawing  of  the  spirit 
from  those  higher  regions  of  spiritual  sympathy,  and 
struggle,  and  communion  with  Christ  in  the  fellowship 
of  his  sutferings ;  and  all  the  channels  of  that  sympathy 
have  been  left  empty  and  dry  ;  and  so  while  there  has 
been  external  activity,  and  some  good  has  been  done, 
there  has  yet,  around  many  of  the  missionary  stations,  not 
been  the  greenness  and  verdure  which  we  hoped  to  see. 
So  has  it  been  ;  so  is  it  now.  And  unless  this  Board  and 
its  friends  come  together  with  the  confession  of  their  sin 
in  this,  and  with  a  readiness  to  assume  this  bnrden  more 
fully  for  the  future,  and  to  cast  themselves  upon  the  Lord, 
that  they  may  be  sustained  in  bearing  it,  then  that  which 
is  really  the  cause  of  missions  will  go  backwards,  and 
we  shall  have  perplexities  and  burdens  come  upon  us  as 
judgments,  and  under  them  God  will  not  sustain  us. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  are  we  to  neglect  literature  and 
science,  education,  and  forms  of  government,  and  civili- 
zation ?  Are  not  these  valuable  in  themselves,  and  are 
they  not  important  aids  in  promoting  Christianity  ?     Are 


448 

we  to  narrow  our  views  to  a  single  object,  and  not  rather  . 
to  take  those  that  are  comprehensive  and  enlarged? 

The  general  question  here  involved  there  is  not  now 
time  fully  to  discuss.  From  the  first  there  have  been 
two  theories  of  missions,  according  to  one  of  which  we 
are  to  introduce  Christianity  at  once,  as  a  means  of  salva- 
tion, and  to  leave  other  things  to  follow  in  its  train ;  and 
according  to  the  other,  we  are  to  introduce  other  things  as 
the  means  of  introducing  Christianity!  I  do  not  mean 
that  missions  have  been  established  distinctly  and  avow- 
edly on  these  two  principles,  but  that  in  the  minds  and  in 
the  labors  of  some,  the  spirit  of  the  first  method,  which 
may  be  called  the  method  of  faith, — and  in  the  minds 
and  the  labors  of  others,  the  spirit  of  the  second  method, 
which  may  be  called  the  method  of  philosophy,  has  pre- 
dominated. Now  we  believe  in  the  method  of  faith.  We 
believe  that  the  greater  will  include  the  less — that,  as  a 
general  thing,  under  God's  government,  and  more  espe- 
cially where,  as  in  a  tree  or  an  animal,  or  a  human  being, 
or  in  the  social  state,  our  object  is  to  be  reached  by  a 
process  of  development,  the  attainment  of  the  highest  end 
must  ultimately  involve  that  of  all  others.  We  believe 
that  the  religious  nature  of  man  is  that  which  is  deepest 
and  most  radical  in  him;  and  that  it  is  only  as  that  is 
quickened,  that  motives  of  sufficient  power  to  induce  him 
to  break  away  from  the  vices  and  degradations  which  are 
opposed  to  a  high  civilization  as  well  as  to  a  true  religion, 
can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  him.  We  believe  that, 
except  as  this  nature  is  quickened  and  directed  and 
strengthened  by  Christianity,  any  form  of  civilization  that 
may  exist  will  fall  in  by  its  own  weight ;  that  literature 
will  become  corrupted  and  a  curse  ;  that  social  life  will  be 
full  of  jarring  elements  ;  and  that  inventions  in  the  arts, 
and  those  improvements  which  facilitate  the  intercouse  of 
men,  and  every  thing  which  gives  an  accelerated  move- 
ment to  society,  will  be  but  as  the  laying  down  of  the 


449 

iron  track,  and  the  concentration  of  energy  in  the  iron 
horse,  that  shall  prepare  the  way  for  the  shocks  of  more 
awful  and  destructive  collisions.  We  do  not  find — and 
the  fact  is  to  be  noted — that  Christ  or  his  apostles  made 
any  inventions  or  discoveries  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  or 
sought  directly  to  promote  literature.  We  believe  that 
the  preaching  of  "Christ  and  him  crucified,"  and  that 
only,  is  "  the  wisdom  of  God  and  the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation;"  and  that,  if  we  can  so  plant  and  water  the 
tree  of  life  that  we  shall  have  the  fruit  that  is  unto 
eternal  life,  we  shall  have  also  the  green  leaves,  and  the 
fragrance,  and  the  broad  shade  of  a  right  social  state  ; 
and  we  think  but  lightly  of  that  kind  of  enlargement  and 
liberality  of  view,  which  would  lead  any  one  to  leave  his 
appropriate  work  at  the  root  of  this  tree  and  be  looking 
all  over  the  branches,  and  spending  his  minute  and  fruitless 
labors  around  its  individual  fruit-stalks,  and  the  pedun- 
cles of  its  leaves.  The  principle  here  indicated  we  hold 
to  be  essential  in  the  first  planting  of  Christianity ;  and 
even  after  it  is  established,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  it 
will  not  be  found  that  those  who  attempt  to  carry  society 
forward  on  any  other  principle,  will  "  labor  in  the  very 
fire,  and  weary  themselves  for  very  vanity." 

We  see  then,  distinctly,  what  our  object  is ;  and  what 
the  great  burden  is  which  we  must  assume,  if  we  would 
accomplish  it.  It  is  one  which  the  world  knows  nothing 
of;  which  none  but  those  who  sympathize  with  Christ  in 
that  spirit  which  brought  him  to  this  world  can  know. 
But  as  we  move  on  under  this,  we  find,  at  difterent 
points,  individual  burdens  which  often  press  upon  us  with 
great  weight.  Such  have,  at  times,  been  the  want  of 
suitable  men  as  missionaries ;  the  removal  by  death  of 
able  and  distinguished  helpers;  the  interference  of  popery; 
persecutions  among  the  heathen,  and  perhaps  defections 
among  those,  who,  it  was  hoped,  would  stand  firm ;  a 
67 


450 

want  of  pecuniary  means,  and  revulsions  in  the  commer- 
cial world.  Of  this  class  of  burdens,  which  must  vary  at 
different  times,  I  shall  at  present  speak  of  only  two. 

The  first  is,  the  state  of  the  churches  at  home — the 
alarming  and  general  suspension  of  divine  influences, 
and  the  consequent  evils  that  are  every  where  creeping 
in.  The  apostle  well  understood  his  subject  when  he 
compared  a  Christian  community  to  an  organized  body, 
in  which,  if  one  member  suffer,  all  the  members  suffer 
with  it.  Water  cannot  rise  higher  than  its  source.  If 
Christianity  is  to  go  out  from  us,  we  can  send  only  such 
as  we  have.  If  our  churches  are  in  a  degenerate,  and 
languid,  and  worldly  state,  and  have  little  care  for  the 
conversion  of  men  around  them,  they  will  have  still  less 
for  that  of  the  heathen.  Prayer  will  cease ;  the  contri- 
butions will  fall  away ;  missionaries  of  the  right  stamp 
cannot  be  had  ,•  unexpected  obstacles  will  arise ;  the 
hands  of  those  in  the  field  will  be  weakened  ;  the  strength 
of  the  bearers  of  burdens  will  be  decayed,  and  there  will 
be  much  rubbish  so  that  they  will  not  be  able  to  build  the 
wall.  We  are  indeed  assembled  to  deliberate  for  the 
salvation  of  the  heathen ;  but  when  we  see  the  wo  of 
Bethsaida  so  dreadfully  incurred  by  our  own  congrega- 
tions, and  that  gospel  which  we  would  send  far  away, 
apparently  so  powerless  as  it  is  preached  at  home ;  when 
we  see  our  young  men  growing  up,  and  those  who  are 
educated  going  into  the  world,  without  religion ;  and 
wlien  we  look  at  the  immediate  and  more  remote  bear- 
ings of  all  this  upon  the  cause  of  missions,  we  must  feel 
that  this  state  of  things  is  pressing  as  a  heavy  burden 
upon  us.  Oh  that  this  great  and  solemn  convocation 
might  so  feel  this  burden,  and  so  cast  it  upon  the  Lord, 
that  a  spirit  may  go  forth  from  this  place  that  shall  revive 
the  waste  places  of  Zion,  and  cause  the  wilderness  and 
solitary  place  to  rejoice ! 

The  second  burden  of  this  kind  which  I  shall  mention, 


461 

is  one  which  probably  would  not  exist  with  much  severity 
of  pressure,  were  it  not  for  the  first.  It  is,  that  the  friends 
of  missions  are  not  altogether  agreed  among  themselves 
respecting  the  true  burdens,  which,  as  associated  together 
in  this  enterprise,  they  ought  to  assume.  There  is  doubt- 
less an  honest  difference  of  opinion  among  good  men, 
true  friends  of  this  cause  and  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom, 
more  particularly  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  how  ar 
we  ought  to  go,  and  what  precise  course  we  ought  to 
adopt.  This  subject  I  mention  here,  not  for  the  purpose 
of  discussing  it,  for  this  is  not  the  place  ;  but  because  it 
is  a  great  and  difficult  subject,  and  many,  and  perhaps  all 
the  friends  of  this  cause,  have  come  together  feehng  that 
it  must  press  as  a  peculiar  burden  upon  this  meeting  of 
the  Board.  God  forbid  that  this  Board  should  not  assume 
fully  every  burden  on  this  subject  which  the  God  of 
missions  would  lay  upon  them.  I  hope  and  believe  it  is 
their  desire  to  do  so.  God  forbid  that  they  should  do  any 
thing  to  countenance  or  to  sustain  the  curse  of  slavery,  or 
that  in  their  own  onward  movement  they  should  create 
backwater  that  would  retard  the  vessel  freighted  with  any 
other  benevolent  enterprise.  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  are  evils  equally  obvious,  and  perhaps  equally 
great,  which  must  ensue,  if  this  body  should  turn  aside 
from  its  appropriate  work — if  elements  should  enter  per- 
manently into  its  discussions  and  counsels,  which  must, 
in  a  body  constituted  like  this,  become  the  elements  of 
distraction,  and  of  disaster  to  the  heathen  world  ;  but 
which  might  be  appropriately  and  successfully  controlled 
by  organizations  formed  for  the  purpose,  and  be  combined 
to  issues  that  should  be  for  the  glory  of  God,  and  the 
good  of  the  slave. 

And  while  there  are  these  dangers  on  the  one  hand  and 
on  the  other,  such  as  nothmg  but  the  wisdom  and  grace 
of  God  can  enable  us  to  avoid,  the  heart  bleeds  at  the 
thought,  that,  in  a  day  like  this,  Christian  brethren  cannot 


452 

agree  to  labor  together  in  sending  the  gospel  of  peace  and 
love  to  the  heathen.  That  in  this  day, — when  divisions 
are  extending  so  widely;  when  the  dragon  of  popery  is 
pursuing  the  church  wherever  she  goes  into  the  wilder- 
ness of  heathenism,  and  stands  ready  to  devour  every 
child  of  her  missions  that  may  be  born  ;  when  the  malaria 
that  comes  up  from  his  seat  is  borne  on  every  breeze 
across  the  ocean,  and  is  beginning  here  and  there  to 
render  thick  and  stifling  the  free  air  to  which  we  were 
born ;  when  the  missionaries  are  struggling  and  dying  in 
the  field  for  want  of  help;  when  the  whole  heathen 
world  is  open  to  us,  and  from  its  length  and  its  breadth 
the  Macedonian  cry  comes  up ;  when  it  doth  seem  that 
if  we  all  would  but  unitedly  put  our  shoulders  under  this 
ark  of  God,  (for  under  this  dispensation  he  has  made  us  all 
priests  unto  Him,)  and  bear  it  forward,  the  Jordan  of  our 
difficulties  Avould  open  before  us,  and  we  might  go  in 
and  possess  the  promised  land  ; — that  in  such  a  day  there 
should  be  danger  that  that  union  which  is  strength  will 
be  dissolved— that  on  any  ground  those  who  have  labored 
and  have  loved  to  labor  together  in  this  good  cause  will 
fall  out  by  the  way,  and  bring  reproach  on  the  name  of 
Christ,  in  the  sight  of  the  heathen  and  of  those  who  watch 
for  our  halting — is  a  thought  that  cannot  fail  to  be  as  a 
heavy  burden  upon  every  heart  that  loves  the  cause  of 
God.  May  that  God  who  has  hitherto  interposed  in  be- 
half of  this  cause,  prevent  it ! 

But  whatever  may  be  the  burdens  now  resting  upon 
ns,  I  may  remark  here,  that  probably  they  will  not,  as  a 
whole,  be  less  in  time  to  come.  There  are  some  who 
suppose  that  we  are  on  the  borders  of  the  millennium ^ 
and  that  obstacles  are  to  give  way  of  themselves ;  that  as 
the  church  begins  to  move  upon  the  old  strong  holds  and 
fortresses  of  sin,  she  will  find  them  dismantled,  and  the 
gates  wide  open,  and  those  who   had  hitherto  defended 


453 

them  waiting  with  open  arms  to  receive  her.  But  that 
law  under  which  the  love  that  would  reclaim  men  and 
bring  them  back  to  God  was  of  old  espoused  to  struggle 
and  suffering,  has  not  been  repealed,  and  is  not  likely  to 
be  in  our  day.  The  great  adversary  of  God  and  man  is 
not  asleep  ;  and  we  may  be  sure,  if  some  fortresses  seem 
to  be  weakened  or  abandoned,  and  some  batteries  to  be 
quiet,  that  it  is  because  there  are  masked  batteries  preparing, 
and  mines  dug,  and  trains  laid,  it  may  be  under  our  very 
feet.  He  must  have  read  history  and  man  to  little  pur- 
pose, and  know  little  of  the  deep-seated  opposition  of  this 
world  to  the  cross  of  Christ  and  his  simple  and  spiritual 
religion,  who  sees  any  thing  in  the  improvements  or 
enlightenment,  or  in  what  is  called  the  liberahty  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  which  is  to  prevent  the  fires  of  perse- 
cution and  the  agonies  and  triumphs  of  martyrdom.  He 
must  have  looked  upon  passing  events  with  but  a  listless 
eye,  who  has  not  seen  indications  that  such  things  are 
on  their  way.  Some  of  these  are  to  be  found  in  the  ten- 
dency to  unchecked  democracy  and  the  spirit  of  mobs  ; 
in  the  prevalence  of  infidelity;  in  the  increase  and  power 
of  popery  ;  and  in  the  relations  of  these  to  each  other. 

There  is  evidently  a  kind  of  worship  of  democracy, 
and  even  an  endeavor  on  the  part  of  some  to  identify  it 
with  Christianity,  without  reference  to  the  materials  of 
which  it  is  composed.  But  while  a  democracy  in  which 
every  man  should  obey  God,  and  love  his  neighbor  as 
himself,  would  be  well ;  an  infidel  and  atheistic  democ- 
racy, manifesting,  as  it  certainly  would,  the  animalism 
of  the  brute  with  the  art  and  malignity  of  the  fiend, 
would  give  us  the  most  vivid  image  of  hell  upon  earth  of 
which  we  can  conceive.  That  there  is,  through  the  pre- 
valence of  this  spirit,  a  gradual  lowering  down  of  author- 
ity, and  a  loosening  of  restraint,  and  a  tendency  to  mobs, 
and  a  feeling  of  insecurity,  cannot  be  denied  ;  and  than 
such  a  spirit,  not  all  the  art  this  side  the  pit,  no,  nor  in 


454 

it,  conld  have  devised  a  more  appropriate  agency  to  be 
made  ready  to  the  hands  of  the  Jesuit,  by  which,  in  the 
very  name  and  under  the  guise  of  hberty,  he  might 
heave  from  its  base,  and  cause  to  go  down  in  a  sea  of 
anarchy  and  blood  that  standing  point,  which,  in  the 
name  of  humanity,  we  had  reached — that  ^ov  grw  which 
we  fondly  hoped  we  had  found,  where  we  could  place 
the  lever  that  should  lift  a  fallen  world  to  freedom  and 
to  God.  This,  Rome  and  despotism  well  understand, 
and  they  are  pouring  in  the  materials  of  which  mobs  are 
made.  Then  there  is  the  spirit  of  infidelity  in  its  various 
forms,  more  extensive  than  many  suppose.  There  is  the 
coarse  and  brutal  infidelity  of  ignorance  and  vice,  that 
bandages  its  own  eyes,  and,  under  the  goad-  of  passion, 
rushes  into  sin  as  the  horse  into  the  battle  ;  then  there  is 
the  more  refined  and  plausible  infidelity,  that  would  fain 
pluck  leaves  from  the  tree  of  science  to  cover  its  naked- 
ness ;  and  then  there  is  that,  perhaps  not  less  dangerous 
and  envenomed,  which  may  be  found  coiled  up  under 
the  broad  robe  of  latitudinarian  charity  Avith  which  some 
Christian  sects  choose  to  cover  themselves ;  and  between 
this,  too,  in  whatever  form,  and  popery,  it  will  yet  be 
found  that  there  is  a  deep  affinity.  They  have  need  of 
each  other.  It  is  upon  such  forms  as  those  of  popery, 
that,  in  those  hours  of  misgiving  which  it  often  has,  in- 
fidelity loves  to  pillow  its  head  ;  and  then,  with  her  pen- 
ances and  superstitions,  the  arch-sorceress  well  knows  how 
to  drug  into  stupidity  the  little  conscience  it  had  left,  and, 
in  the  name  of  God,  to  put  into  its  hand  the  dagger  of 
persecution  with  which  to  stab  the  vitals  of  liberty  and 
true  religion.  And  when  we  remember  how  rapidly 
popery  is  increasing,  and  that  it  has  lost  none  of  its  art,  or 
of  its  blood-thirsty  spirit,  we  cannot  fail  to  feel  how  omi- 
nous it  is  that,  on  such  a  wonderful  theatre,  these  three 
elements  are  beginning  to  come  into  such  close  and  ex- 
traordinary contact.     It  would  not  be  surprising,  if,  as 


455 

they  mingle,  scenes  should  be  revealed  which  may  find  a 

parallel  only  in  the  French  revolution.  And  then,  when 
we  remember  the  materials  of  hate  between  the  native 
and  the  foreigner,  between  the  capitalist  and  the  laborer, 
and  hear  the  low  growl  of  agrarianism  ;  when  we  remem- 
ber sectional  jealousies,  and  the  distracting  relations  of 
slavery ;  and  see  how  easily  the  standard  of  a  civil  and  a 
servile  war  might  be  unfurled ;  we  cannot  feel  that  the 
burden  that  rests  upon  the  church  in  reference  to  the 
cause  of  Christ*  here,  or  in  foreign  lands,  is  likely  to  be 
diminished  in  our  day.  No,  it  will  be  increased.  The 
call  for  prayer,  and  contributions,  and  effort,  will  be  more 
and  more  urgent,  till,  under  the  pressure  of  such  a  burden, 
we  can  only  go  and  cast  it  upon  the  Lord. 

And  this.  Fathers  and  Brethren,  I  now  invite  you  to  do. 
Your  burden  is  great.  To  you  the  churches  are  looking, 
to  you  the  missionaries,  to  you  the  heathen.  Upon  you 
are  dependent  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  for  the 
bread  of  life,  and  from  stations  upon  which  the  sun  never 
sets,  that  gleam  amidst  the  darkness  of  heathenism,  along 
the  continents,  and  the  islands  of  the  sea,  they  turn  their 
eyes  to  you,  and  they  beseech  you,  by  the  love  and  ex- 
ample of  Christ,  not  to  "  fail  or  to  be  discouraged  till 
judgment  shall  be  set  in  the  earth,  and  the  isles  shall  wait 
for  his  law."  But  great  as  the  burden  is,  cast  it  upon  the 
Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain  you. 

I  cannot  but  think  that,  in  this  simple  principle  of 
taking  up  just  the  burden  that  God  would  lay  upon  us, 
and  then  casting  it  upon  Him,  we  find  our  true  position — 
the  only  position  of  true  dignity,  of  usefulness  and  peace. 
Thus  doing,  it  is  evident  that  the  simpler  and  more  spirit- 
ual is  our  object,  the  less  embarrassed  and  the  more  effi- 
cient may  be  our  action.  But  whatever  object  we  may 
feel  bound  to  adopt,  we  shall  never  become  committed  to 
any  thing  but  to  the  cause  of  God.     Thus  shall  we  be 


456 

saved,  both  from  embarrassment  and  from  disappointment. 
We  shall  never  become  committed  to  any  former  course 
of  action.  Our  prejudices  and  pride  of  consistency  we 
shall  sacrifice  before  this  principle.  Dear  as  this  Board  is 
to  uSj  we  shall  not  be  committed  to  it,  except  as  its  cause 
is  the  cause  of  God.  Dear  and  cherished  as  other  objects 
may  be,  we  shall  not  wish  to  press  them  here,  except  as 
by  so  doing  we  may  promote  the  cause  of  God.  This 
principle  will  teach  us  where  to  yield  and  where  to  be 
firm  ;  and  while  we  are  careful  to  take  ujp,  each  one  his 
own  burden,  it  will  lead  us  also,  in  meekness  and  forbear- 
ance to  '^  hear  one  another^ s  burdens^  and  so  fulfil  the  law 
of  Christ."  Thus  doing,  the  embarrassments  and  com- 
plications that  grow  out  of  selfishness,  and  pride,  and  a 
desire  to  promote  personal  objects,  will  be  removed,  and 
we  shall  all  hear  the  one  voice  of  the  Captain  of  our  sal- 
vation as  he  leads  his  hosts  to  the  conflict,  saying,  "  Fol- 
low ME." 

Fathers  and  Brethren,  in  thus  calling  upon  you  to  cast 
your  burden  upon  the  Lord,  I  cannot  forget  that  I  am 
speaking  to  those  who  have  long  known  what  it  is  to 
bear  burdens,  and  to  cast  them  upon  Him — yes,  and  to  he 
sustained  too.  I  speak  to  some  upon  whom  the  burden 
of  this  cause  lay  in  its  infancy.  Do  you  remember,  vene- 
rable men,  how  heavily  it  pressed  upon  you  then,  when 
you  had  small  means,  and  no  experience,  and  all  was 
dark  ?  And  where  did  you  go  ?  Do  you  remember  when 
you  saw  the  sails  expand  and  lessen  in  the  distance,  that 
bore  the  first  missionaries  from  these  shores  ?  And  where 
did  you  go  then  ?  Do  you  remember  when  your  mis- 
sionaries seemed  to  be  shut  out  from  the  whole  heathen 
world  ?  And  where  did  you  go  then  ?  Do  you  remem- 
ber, Fathers  and  Brethren,  more  recent  days  of  darkness, 
and  how  you  went  to  God,  and  how  he  removed  you  out 
of  a  strait  into  a  large  place,  and  compassed  you  about 
with  songs  of  deliverance  ?     Do  you  remember  the  dark- 


457 

ness  that  might  be  felt  when  the  commercial  pressure  was 
on  the  nation  ;  and  when,  as  the  burden  wa  st  upon 
God  in  prayer,  his  Spirit  came  down  into  the  special 
meeting,  and  made  the  place  as  Goshen,  where  there  was 
light  ?  Did  we  ever,  in  all  the  history  of  this  Board,  cast 
our  burden  upon  the  Lord,  and  find  his  promise  fail  ? 
No,  never  ;  and  we  never  shall. 

To  thee,  then,  0  thou  God  of  missions,  according  to 
thy  command,  we  unitedly  come  and  plead  thy  promise. 
This  is  not  our  cause,  but  thine.  Thou  knowest  per- 
fectly the  burden  that  is  pressing  upon  us  in  bearing  it 
forward.  That  burden  we  cast  upon  thee.  Sustain 
THOU  us. — Amen. 


58 


SERMON, 


DELIVERED  AT  PLYMOUTH  AT  THE  ANNIVERSARY  OF  THE  LANDING  OF 
THE  PILGRIMS. 

December  22,  1846. 


And  all  ye  are  brethren. — Matthew  xxiii.  8. 

When  Columbus  spread  his  sails  to  explore  the  west- 
ern ocean,  it  was  his  theory,  and  his  hope,  that  he  might 
find  in  that  direction,  a  passage  to  those  Indies  which 
had  been  already  discovered.  He  little  dreamed  that,  in 
accomplishing  this,  he  should  become  the  discoverer  of  a 
new  world.  We  honor  the  sagacity  and  the  enterprise  of 
the  great  navigator;  but  we  also  adore  that  Providence, 
which,  through  the  mists  of  his  uncertain  and  imperfect 
theories,  not  only  revealed  a  new  hemisphere,  but  brought 
to  light  the  figure  and  extent  of  the  globe  on  which  we 
dwell,  and  freighted  his  ships  with  its  moral  and  political 
destinies.  Highly  and  justly  as  we  honor  his  name,  how 
little  did  he  comprehend  those  results  of  his  voyage 
which  even  yet  but  begin  to  be  realized,  and  which  must 
swell  in  interest  and  in  magnitude  till  the  end  of  time ! 
He  had  in  view  the  extension  of  commerce  and  of 
science  ;  but  God  had  in  view  the  discovery  of  a  refuge 
to  which  his  church  might  flee  when  she  should  be 
persecuted,  the  extension  of  human  liberty,  the  subver- 
sion of  thrones  and  dynasties,  and  the  transfer  of  the  seat 
of  empire. 


459 

When  our  Fathers,  with  no  less  of  fortitude  and  of 
sagacity,  in  the  midst  of  prayers  and  of  tears,  with  their 
wives  and  their  little  ones  about  them,  started  not  on  a 
voyage  of  discovery  from  which  they  hoped  to  return 
laden  with  glory,  but  intentionally  severed  forever  the 
ties  which  bound  them  to  their  country,  and  sought, 
beyond  the  ocean,  a  wilderness  for  a  home,  they  had  in 
view  religious  freedom,  the  right  education  of  their  chil- 
dren, and  the  extension  of  the  true  religion  among  the 
savages.  Little  did  they  think,  that  out  of  their  sacred 
sense  of  obligation  to  instruct  their  children,  there  should 
extend  among  millions  a  more  equal  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge than  the  world  had  ever  seen — that  by  the  side  of 
that  religious  liberty  which  they  chiefly  sought,  and 
springing  from  the  same  root  watered  by  so  many  tears, 
there  should  shoot  up  a  tree  of  civil  freedom,  which 
should  refresh  a  continent  by  its  shade— that  with  the 
extension  of  their  principles  and  institutions,  there  would 
be  new  combinations  of  the  political  and  social  elements, 
which  should  test  and  establish  the  capacity  of  man  for 
self-government ;  in  which  the  glare  of  all  adventitious 
distinctions  should  disappear  before  the  rights  and  the 
worth  of  individual  man ;  in  which  the  great  principle  of 
equality — equality  before  God  through  the  one  Mediator, 
and  equality  before  the  eye  of  impartial  law — should  be 
established;  and  in  which  there  should  be  an  approxi- 
mation in  society  more  near  than  had  ever  been  known 
before,  to  that  brotherhood  of  the  race,  that  state  of 
equality  and  affection  which  is  the  only  one  suited  to 
Christian  people,  and  which  is  indicated  in  that  far 
reaching  annunciation  of  the  text,  ''And  all  ye  are  breth- 
ren." Columbus  sought  a  passage  to  the  Indies,  and  God 
revealed  to  him  the  whole  rounded  inheritance  which  he 
created  in  the  beginning,  and  intended  for  the  use  of  civ- 
ilized man.  Our  Fathers  sought  for  religious  freedom, 
and  God  led  them  on  o  the  practical  recognition  of  those 


460 

principles  laid  down  by  Christ,  in  accordance  with  which 
alone  man  can  obtain  that  political  and  social  and  moral 
inheritance  of  which  his  nature  is  evidently  capable,  and 
which  we  believe  God  intended  for  him. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  merely  to  honor  men,  that  we 
celebrate  this  day.  We  look  back  to  the  event  it  com- 
memorates as  a  great  historical  epoch — the  opening  of  a 
new  era  to  this  continent,  and  to  the  world ;  and  much  as 
we  honor  the  agency  and  the  persons  of  the  Pilgrims,  we 
see  far  higher  reasons  for  recognizing  the  hand,  and 
celebrating  the  agency  of  the  Pilgrim's  God.  Well  then 
may  we  come,  in  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  our 
Fathers,  to  a  religious  celebration  of  this  day;  and  far 
distant  may  be  the  time,  when,  under  the  pretence  of 
honoring  their  virtues,  it  shall  be  desecrated  by  those 
scenes  of  sensuality  and  of  frivolity  into  which  such 
occasions  sometimes  degenerate,  which  would  offend 
even  the  piety  of  the  present  day,  and  which  we  might 
almost  expect  would  stir  the  bones  of  those  godly  men, 
and  call  them  up  from  their  rest  of  centuries  to  rebuke 
the  degeneracy  of  those  who  should  claim  to  be  their 
descendants.  If,  however,  such  a  time  should  ever  come, 
it  would  not  be  the  first  instance  in  the  history  of  the 
world,  in  which  the  tombs  of  the  prophets  have  been 
built,  and  the  sepulchres  of  the  righteous  have  been 
garnished,  by  those  of  a  very  difierent  spirit. 

And  not  only  do  we  wish  to  celebrate  this  day  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Forefathers,  but,  followed  as  we  are  by  the 
representatives  and  spiritual  descendants  of  those  who 
persecuted  them  and  drove  them  hither,  and  told  as  we 
are  by  them,  that  our  churches  are  no  churches,  our  min- 
isters no  ministers,  our  sacraments  no  sacraments,  our 
marriages  no  marriages,  and,  while  they  lack  as  yet  that 
power  of  persecution  for  which  their  system  has  such  an 
affinity,  only  given  over  to  the  "  uncovenanted  mercies 
of  God,"  we  wish  to  reaffirm,  on  this  consecrated  spot, 


461 

the  principles  of  the  Puritans,  to  thank  God  that  their 
blood  runs  in  our  veins,  and  to  encourage  each  other  to 
stand  fast  in  that  hberty  wherewith  Christ  hath  made  us 
free ;  while  yet  we  would  learn,  in  their  application  to 
those  who  vilify  us  as  well  as  to  others,  the  full  import  of 
those  words  of  our  Saviour,  "  And  all  ye  are  brethren." 

,       The   term   brethren,    as   used   in    the   text,    indicates 
j  equality  and  affection,  and  the  proposition  which  I  sup- 
I  pose  it  involves,  and  which  I  propose  to  illustrate,  is,  that 
j  the  form  of  society  contemplated  by  Christianity  as  best 
!  adapted  to  the  nature  of  man,  its  ultimate  and  most  per- 
l  feet  form,  whether  manifesting  itself  through  the  church 
or  the  state,  will  be  one   of  which  these  two  elements 
shall  form  the  basis.     This  topic  I  regard  as  appropriate 
to  the  present  occasion,  because  a  state  of  society  which 
should  be  moulded  under  the  full  influence  of  these  prin- 
ciples, would  be  the  matured  fruit  of  which  the  enterprise 
of  our  Fathers  was  the  bud.     Without  themselves  seeing 
their   full   extent,  or  admitting   all   their   consequences, 
these  seem  to  have  been  the  great  guiding  ideas  under 
the  influence  of  which  they  acted. 

In  considering  the  proposition,  that  equality  and  affec- 
tion must  form  the  basis  of  a  perfect  society,  the  main 
inquiries  will  be,  first,  how  far  it  is  sanctioned  by  the 
Scriptures  ;  and  secondly,  how  far  it  is  in  accordance 
with  the  nature  of  man.  Before  entering  upon  these 
points,  however,  it  may  be  well  to  ascertain  wiiat  we 
mean  by  equality,  as  here  used.  And  first,  we  mean  by 
this  nothing  tliat  will  imply  a  disregard  of  any  relation 
constituted  by  God.  The  family  state  is  an  ordinance  of 
God,  intended  to  train  men  for  society  here,  and  for 
heaven.  The  inferiority  it  implies  is  inevitable,  and  is 
under  the  guardianship  of  a  natural  affection  which  would 
make  the  highest  good  of  the  parent  and  the  child  identi- 
cal, and  would  secure  that  of  both  in  the  most  effectual 


462 

way.  The  more  perfectly  the  rights  and  duties  growing 
out  of  these  relations  are  regarded,  the  better  will  those 
who  are,  not  so  much  members  of  society,  as  in  a  state  of 
training  to  become  so,  be  qualified  to  enter  upon  their 
wider  and  more  responsible  duties  in  such  a  way  as  to 
guard  and  perpetuate  a  true  equality.  Of  this  relation  of 
the  family  to  the  state,  and  of  family  subordination  to 
ultimate  equality,  our  Fathers  were  well  aware;  and  hence 
their  great  care  in  family  instruction  and  government. 
Nor,  again,  does  equality  imply  any  disregard  of  natural 
endowments,  or  of  eminent  qualities ;  any  want  of  per- 
ception of  those  varieties  of  character  on  the  ground  of 
which,  while  we  are  to  treat  all  men  with  benevolence, 
we  are  yet  to  have  a  higher  respect  for  some  than  for 
others.  It  would  be  as  easy  to  stop  the  flowing  of  the 
tides  when  the  moon  draws  them,  as  to  stop  the  tide  of 
honor  and  respect  which  sets  towards  true  worth  in  a  free 
community.  Nor,  will  equality  imply  that  every  man 
shall  have  an  equal  amount  of  knowledge  or  of  property. 
These,  aside  from  moral  character,  are  the  great  means  of 
influence ;  but  if  we  make  men  equal  in  these  to-day, 
they  will  either  cease  to  be  so  to-morrow,  or  you  must 
put  cramping  irons  upon  society  that  would  destroy  all 
freedom.  Equality  of  condition  could  result  only  from 
the  most  arbitrary  rule,  and  the  grossest  injustice. 

What  then  does  equality  imply?     Simply  that  every 
man  shall  have  an  equal  right  to  use  the  faculties  and 
[  means  of  happiness   which  God  has   given  him,   as   he 
1  pleases,  provided  he  does  not  interfere  with  the  rights  of 
'  others.     It  would  imply  the  largest  liberty  of  the  indi- 
vidual that  would  not  make  liberty  minister  to  anarchy 
and  injustice.     It  would  also  imply  in  the  constitution  of 
society,  the  absence  of  any  thing  artificial,  whether  an 
order  of  nobility  constituted  by  the  state,  or  a  self-consti- 
tuted secret  society,  which  should  divert   the  currents  of 
wealth  or  of  mfluence   from  those   natural   channels  in 


463 

which  they  would  otherwise  flow.  This  would  open  a 
career  to  every  man,  would  leave  every  man  free  to  shape 
his  own  destiny,  and  would  enable  him  to  find  his  true 
place  in  society.  This,  too,  would  bring  individuals 
together  by  affinities  that  would  most  beautify  and 
strengthen  society,  just  as  matter  will  crystalize  into  its 
most  beautiful  and  compact  forms  only  when  its  particles 
can  move  freely  among  themselves.  We  cannot  suppose 
it  was  intended  that  society  should  lie  in  regular  and 
unchangeable  strata  one  above  the  other,  with  here  and 
there  a  monarchical  elevation  upheaved  ages  ago  by  some 
political  earthquake.  Equality  would  rather  require  that 
each  individual  should  be  as  a  separate  drop  of  water 
mingled  with  a  homogeneous  mass,  in  which  each  particle 
is  subject  to  the  same  laws,  and  each  finds  an  equal  facil- 
ity in  coming  up  to  the  light  and  warmth  of  the  surface. 
It  would  not  be  necessary  that  each  particle  should  actu- 
ally be  at  the  surface  an  equal  length  of  time,  but  we 
would  have  no  horizontal  partition  drawn  through  the 
ocean  to  prevent  the  drops  beneath  from  rising;  nor  would 
we  have  the  surface  congealed  into  an  aristocracy,  to  pre- 
vent the  free  action  of  the  waters  below  and  the  access 
to  them  of  the  air  and  the  sunlight. 

^  The  idea  of  equality,  then,  would  simply  require  the 
largest  liberty  to  the  individual  that  would  be  compatible 
i  with  the  good  of  the  whole,  and  a  constitution  of  society 
i  which  should  present  no  obstacle  to  an  interchange  of 
I  places  among  its  members,  when  that  would  be  produced 
i  in  consequence  of  the  honorable  efforts,  or  of  the  charac- 
^  ter  and  personal  qualities  of  individuals. 

Equality  thus  understood,  is  the  democratic  and  cen- 
trifugal element  in  society,  and  it  is  the  great  mistake  of 
many  to  suppose  that  the  attainment  of  this  is  all  that 
would  be  necessary  to  its  perfect  state.  Demagogues 
flatter  the  people,  that  nothing  more  than  this  would  be 
necessary  to  bring  in  a  political  millennium.     But  cer- 


464 

tainly  nothing  could  be  worse  than  this,  without  some 
aggregating  force,  either  from  without  to  press,  or  from 
within  to  draw,  individuals  together.  It  is  the  right  cen- 
tripetal and  constituting  force  that  is  chiefly  needed,  and 
if  one  can  be  found  which  shall  not  only  be  compatible 
with  individual  liberty,  but  which  shall  be  strong  as  a 
bond  of  union  just  in  proportion  to  the  enlargement  of  that 
liberty,  then  the  great  social  problem  of  the  harmony  of 
individual  freedom  with  the  unity  and  efficiency  of  gov- 
ernmental and  social  action,  will  be  solved.  But  the 
solution  of  a  problem  whose  conditions  are  so  apparently 
incompatible,  was  not  left  to  human  wisdom.  It  furnishes 
another  example  of  the  simple  yet  exhaustless  wisdom  of 
Christ.  In  the  affection  and  brotherhood  everywhere 
inculcated  by  him  we  have  precisely  such  a  principle,  and 
the  only  one  possible.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  there- 
fore, in  our  discussion,  first,  that  it  is  not  every  kind  of 
equality  for  which  I  contend  ;  nor,  secondly,  any  kind  of 
equality  standing  alone  ;  but  an  equality  of  rights  balanced 
by  an  affection  based  upon  principle,  which  should  con- 
stitute society  a  brotherhood. 

]  We  are  now  prepared  to  inquire  how  far  such  a  state 
|of  things  would  be  either  required,  or  permitted,  by  the 
Scriptures. 

And  here  we  are  ready  to  say,  that  we  do  not  suppose 
that  the  Scriptures  have  laid  down,  as  indispensable,  any 
one  form  of  government,  either  in  church,  or  in  state. 
This  they  could  not  have  done  wisely,  because  different 
forms  must  be  required  as  the  individuals  composing  so- 
ciety have  greater  or  less  power  of  self-government.  The 
general  method  of  the  Scriptures  is  to  make  the  tree  good  ; 
to  strike  not  at  this  or  that  particular  form  of  wickedness, 
but  at  its  root  in  the  alienation  of  man  from  his  Maker: 
and  they  take  it  for  granted,  that  when  they  have  made 
all  the  individuals  who  compose  society,  honest,  and  be- 


465 

nevolent,  and  pure-minded,  and  disposed  to  submit  to  all 
lawful  authority  as  ordained  of  God,  the  forms  in  which 
that  authority  will  be  administered  will  be  brought,  with- 
out difficulty  or  violence,  into  a  correspondence  with  the 
pervading  spirit  of  the  community.  Hence,  while  we  are 
to  look  for  no  specific  form  of  government  as  laid  down 
in  the  Bible,  we  may  properly  inquire  what  form  would 
be  most  congenial  with  the  spirit  which  it  inculcates,  and 
with  its  ultimate  aims. 

But,  on  this  point,  can  there  be  a  difference  of  opinion  ? 
What  can  be  the  meaning  of  the  text,  taken  in  its  connec- 
tion ?  ''  But  be  not  ye  called  Rabbi ;  for  one  is  your 
Master,  even  Christ  ,•  and  all  ye  are  brethen.  And  call  no 
man  your  father  upon  the  earth ;  for  one  is  your  Father, 
which  is  in  heaven.  Neither  be  ye  called  masters ;  for 
one  is  your  Master,  even  Christ.  But  he  that  is  greatest 
among  you  shall  be  your  servant."  It  may,  indeed,  be 
said,  that  this  was  addressed  to  the  apostles  only,  and  that 
it  proves  nothing  more  than  the  doctrine  of  ministerial 
parity,  and  the  utter  incongruity  there  is  between  both 
the  letter  and  spirit  of  the  New  Testament,  and  that 
assumption  of  authority,  whether  spiritual  or  temporal,  by 
which  those  who  have  claimed  to  be  the  ministers  of  Him 
who  was  the  impersonation  of  meekness  and  love,  have 
domineered  over,  and  persecuted  his  church.  But  if  we 
suppose  this  passage  to  refer  more  particularly  to  ecclesi- 
astical relations,  let  us  turn  to  a  passage  in  the  twentieth 
chapter  of  this  same  gospel,  which  certainly  does  not  refer 
to  these,  and  both  together  will  cover  the  whole  ground. 
We  there  see,  in  two  of  the  disciples,  the  anxieties  and 
mtrigues  of  a  spirit  which  was  looking  forward  to  temporal 
power.  This  was  the  object  they  had  in  their  thoughts, 
and  must  have  been  the  object  our  Saviour  had  in  view  in 
his  rebuke  to  them,  and  in  his  more  general  instructions. 
Hear,  then,  the  words  of  our  Saviour,  spoken  under  circum- 
stances to  give  them  special  weight,  for  we  are  told  that  he 
69 


466 

called  them  unto  him,  and  said,  ''Ye  know  that  the  princes 
of  the  Gentiles  exercise  dominion  over  them,  and  they  that 
are  great  exercise  authority  upon  them.  But  it  shall  not 
be  so  among  you  :  but  whosoever  will  be  great  among 
you,  let  him  be  your  minister ;  and  whosoever  will  be 
chief  among  you,  let  him  be  your  servant :  even  as  the 
Son  of  man  came,  not  to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  min- 
ister, and  to  give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many."  Here  we 
find  the  true  foundation  of  the  highest  greatness,  and  a 
perception,  which  can  be  accounted  for  only  on  the  sup- 
position of  a  divine  wisdom,  of  the  true  relations  of  the 
governing  and  the  governed. 

But  if  any  one  should  still  choose  to  say,  that  Christ 
had  no  reference  in  any  case  to  political  regulations,  that 
he  abstained  wholly  from  all  connection  with  civil  gov- 
ernment ;  yet  no  good  reason  could  be  assigned  why  the 
same  principles  which  are  wisest  and  best  in  one  relation, 
should  not  be  carried  out  into  others.  Why  should  not 
a  Christian  state,  if  indeed  the  church  would  not  become 
the  state,  be  fashioned  after  the  model  of  a  Christian 
church,  as  Moses  was  directed  to  make  the  earthly  taber- 
nacle after  the  pattern  showed  him  in  the  mount  ?  Doubt- 
less our  Saviour  looked  forward  to  the  time,  when  there 
should  be,  what  there  are  not  now,  and  probably  never 
have  been,  Christian  governments,  whose  acts  should 
express  the  will  of  a  nation  of  Christians  ;  when  there 
should  be  the  only  union  of  church  and  state  that  would 
be  desirable,  when  every  magistrate,  and  every  subject, 
should  be  a  true  member  of  his  church,  and  thus  the  laws 
of  his  house,  and  the  affection  of  Christian  brotherhood, 
should  comprehend  and  modify  the  relations  of  ruler  and 
people.  In  that  case  society  would  become  instinct  with 
the  power  of  self-government,  virtually  a  theocracy,  whose 
Shekinah  would  take  up  its  abode  in  the  conscience  of 
every  man  ;  and  whose  civil  government,  when  its  func- 
tions should  be  required,  would  be  simply  the  organism 


467 

which  the  public  life  would  form  for  itself,  not  for  the 
protection  of  rights,  or  for  internal  control,  but  for  the 
accomplishment  of  public  ends.  In  the  nature  of  the  case, 
a  true  religion,  doing  its  work  fully  upon  each  individual, 
must  pervade  every  thing  by  its  spirit.  When  the  waters 
of  the  sanctuary,  which  are  now  but  to  the  ankles  of 
society,  shall  rise  and  swell  as  they  must,  they  will  become 
an  ocean  for  it  to  swim  in.     (Ezek.  xlvii.) 

Without,  therefore,  going  into  an  extended  and  critical 
■  argument  from  the  Scriptures,  inappropriate  to  the  time, 
and  to  the  occasion,  suffice  it  to  say,  that  they  contain 
j  nothing  contradictory  to  the  spirit  of  the  passages  which 
i  I  have  now  quoted.     In  them  the  assumptions  of  popery, 
I  and  the  spirit  of  high-churchism  in  all  its  forms,  find  no 
\  countenance,  and  They  are  mentioned  only  to  have  placed 
upon  them  the  ban  of  prophetic  denunciation.     Coming 
to  individuals,  and  doing  its  great  work  upon  them  as  the 
subjects  of  God's  government,  and  doing  a  similar  work 
upon  each,  by  which  all  become  actuated  by  similar  mo- 
tives, attached  to  similar  objects,  and  assimilated  to  one 
great   model,   Christianity   will   necessarily   constitute    a 
strong  bond  of  union,  and  promote  a  spirit  of  brotherhood 
and  equality  among  men.     If,  therefore,  we  may  not  say 
that  the  Scriptures  require,  we  are  entirely  safe  in  saying 
that  they  permit,  a  state  of  society  which  should  be  based 
on  equality  and  affection,  and  that  this  would  best  har- 
monize with  their  general  spirit. 

We  are  now  prepared  to  inquire,  how  far  the  proposition 
laid  down  as  involved  in  the  text,  is  in  accordance  with 
the  constitution  of  man. 

When  I  speak  of  the  adaptation  of  a  form  of  govern- 
ment, or  of  society,  to  the  constitution  of  man,  I  mean  by 
ft,  its  adaptation,  not  to  aggrandize  individuals  or  classes, 
not  to  promote  any  selfish  end,  but  to  call  out  his  facul- 
ties most  fully,  and  to  promote,  in  the  highest  degree,  the 


468 

individual  and  social  good  of  the  whole.  That  different 
forms  of  goverment  are  required  by  man  in  the  great 
variety  of  states  in  which  he  is  found,  I  readily  admit ;  I 
admit  also  that  there  is  in  him  a  great  flexibility  and 
power  of  adaptation  to  these  forms,  so  that  individuals 
may  perhaps  reach  equal  perfection  under  them  all ;  but 
it  is  hardly  probable  that  any  two  will  be  equally  favor- 
able to  the  highest  culture  and  best  good  of  a  whole 
people. 

I  observe  then,  first,  that  that  form  of  government  would 
be  most  in  accordance  with  the  constitution  of  man,  which 
should  best  secure  those  conditions,  in  connection  with 
which  individual  and  social  man  may  attain  most  fully 
his  end. 

Government  is  not  an  end,  but  a  means  ;  and  no  govern- 
ment can  be  a  good  one,  which  does  not  propose  to  itself, 
and  secure,  the  true  ends  for  which  a  government  ought  to 
be  instituted.  It  is  not  among  the  chief  of  these  ends,  to 
promote,  directly,  the  prosperity  of  a  people.  That  must 
arise  from  the  active  principles  of  their  nature  rightly  di- 
rected— from  their  intelligence,  and  industry,  and  virtue. 
Where  these  are  wanting,  there  can  be  no  prosperity  ;  and 
it  is  the  business  of  government  to  secure  those  conditions 
through  which  these  shall  be  most  fully  elicited,  and  have 
the  widest  scope.  Any  government  which  does  this, 
whatever  its  form,  may  be  regarded  as  a  good  one, 
and  any  one  which  does  not  do  this,  is  not  a  good 
one. 

The  conditions  which  a  government  ought  thus  to 
secure,  I  suppose  to  be,  first,  the  personal  liberty  and 
equality  of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  This  would 
involve  the  tenure  of  property  by  freehold,  and  an  absence 
of  all  enactments  in  regard  to  both  property  and  rank, 
which  should  prevent  these  from  following  their  natural 
laws,  as  dependent  upon  individual  character  and  exer- 
tion. 


469 

A  second  condition  would  be,  a  general,  and  as  nearly 
as  possible,  an  equal  diflfusion  of  knowledge  in  the  com- 
munity. 

A  third  condition  would  be,  security.  It  is  not  enough 
that  the  persons  and  property  of  men,  may  be,  and  per- 
haps as  a  matter  of  fact,  are,  let  alone.  What  is  needed  is, 
a  feeling  of  security  that  they  will  be  thus  let  alone  while 
men  demean  themselves  as  good  citizens.  This  feeling 
may  be  destroyed  quite  as  effectually  by  the  spirit  of  mobs, 
as  by  the  caprice,  or  avarice,  or  tyranny  of  a  single  indi- 
vidual. There  are  indeed  numerous  reasons  why  one 
tyrant  is  to  be  preferred  to  many. 

A  fourth  condition  is,  a  cheap  and  prompt  administration 
of  justice,  when  the  rights  of  person  or  of  property  are 
violated. 

I  mention  as  a  fifth  condition,  religious  freedom — the 
practical  recognition  of  the  great  doctrine  that  God  is  the 
sole  lord  of  the  conscience.  This  may  be  said  to  be 
involved  in  the  condition  first  mentioned  ;  but  on  this 
spot,  on  this  day,  as  well  as  from  its  intimate  connection 
with  civil  liberty  and  all  high  culture,  it  demands  a  sepa- 
rate place.  Religious  Freedom  !  This  has  been  the  start- 
ing point  and  support  of  civil  freedom,  from  the  day  when 
an  apostle  uttered  those  memorable  words,  "  We  ought  to 
obey  God,  rather  than  men,"  until  now.  Where  this  is, 
in  connection  with  the  free  circulation  of  the  Bible,  there 
civil  liberty  will  be.  Where  this  is  not,  there,  in  this  age 
of  the  world,  civil  liberty  will  not  be.  The  power  that 
can  bind  the  conscience,  that  strong  man  of  our  nature, 
will  enter  in  and  spoil  the  whole  house.  Religious  Free- 
dom !  The  rights  of  conscience  !  Even  yet  so  little 
understood,  so  partially  enjoyed  !  For  this  it  is  that  the 
race  now  sighs  and  waits,  and  the  birth-throes  of  which, 
for  the  whole  world,  shall  be  the  next  general  convulsion 
of  the  nations. 

Let  these  conditions  exist,  and  if  a  people  do  not  become 


470 

prosperous  and  happy,  no  earthly  power  can  make  them 
so.  But  while  I  admit  that  these  conditions,  or  the  most 
of  them,  are  possible  under  widely  different  forms  of  gov- 
ernment, and  of  course  that  these,  and  not  the  forms,  are 
to  be  mainly  regarded,  it  is  yet  clear  that  they  would  be 
much  more  likely  to  exist  in  connection  with  some  forms 
than  with  others.  How  has  this  been  hitherto  ?  Have 
these  conditions  been  secured  to  the  mass  of  men  by  the 
governments  that  have  existed  ?  Let  history  answer. 
Nothing  can  be  plainer,  than  that  the  interests  of  the  gov- 
ernments and  of  the  people,  have  been  regarded,  not  as 
identical,  not  as  merely  separate,  but  as  opposite.  The 
end  of  governments  has  been,  either  to  strengthen  them- 
selves against  the  people,  or  to  make  them  subservient  to 
their  plans  of  avarice  or  of  ambition.  The  great  cause  of 
this,  undoubtedly,  has  been  that  general  corruption  of  our 
nature,  and  proclivity  of  it  to  evil,  from  which  it  results 
that  the  characters  of  men  are  so  much  more  generally 
formed  by  their  temptations  than  by  their  duties.  While 
this  remains,  no  perfect  remedy  can  be  found,  and  hence 
we  are  never  to  forget,  that  our  most  hopeful  labors  are 
those  in  which  we  seek  to  change  the  character  of  the 
mass,  by  casting  in  the  leaven  of  Christianity.  Still,  as  a 
wheel  can  be  so  made  as  to  turn  under  water  by  the  force 
of  that  very  water  which  we  should  suppose  would  pre- 
vent its  motion,  so  something  may  be  done  by  wisely  bal- 
ancing against  each  other  the  natural  principles  of  action, 
and  by  such  adjustments,  that  even  selfishness  itself  shall 
often  bring  its  weight  to  bear  at  the  same  point  with 
patriotism,  and  thus  aid  in  giving  to  the  wheel  of  govern- 
ment an  energetic  and  equable  motion. 

This  point  must  certainly  be  most  fully  reached  in  a 
republic,  where  the  people  choose  their  rulers  for  a  limited 
time,  and  where  the  rulers  are  not  only  responsible  to 
them,  but  return  to  mingle  with  them,  and  to  be  them- 
selves subject  to  the  laws  which  they  have  made.     It  is 


471 

as  if  every  physician  should  be  obliged,  after  having  pre- 
scribed for  his  patient,  to  take  the  same  dose  himself. 
This  might  not  increase  the  amount  of  virtue  in  the  pro- 
fession, but  it  is  very  possible  that  it  might  sometimes 
modify  the  practice.  Hence,  while  monarchy,  with  its 
necessary  subordination  of  ranks,  would  foster  throughout 
the  community  a  love  of  irresponsible  power,  and  would 
facilitate  its  abuse,  a  republican  equality,  when  once 
sufficient  intelligence  and  virtue  can  be  reached  by  the 
people  to  base  their  government  upon  it,  will  hold  that 
dangerous  passion  in  check.  Hence,  too,  while  this 
equality  would  seem  to  be  the  state  towards  which  the 
elevation  of  the  mass  must  tend,  and  which  must  be 
reached  in  a  perfect  state  of  society,  it  would  also  seem 
most  likely  to  secure  those  conditions  on  which  the 
progress  of  society  towards  such  a  state  must  depend,  and 
therefore  to  be  most  in  accordance  with  the  constitution 
of  man. 

I  observe  in  the  second  place,  that  that  form  of  govern- 
ment will  be  most  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  man, 
which  shall,  as  far  as  possible,  control  men  by  an  appeal 
to  the  higher,  rather  than  to  the  lower  principles  of  their 
nature. 

Plainly  there  are  two  methods  by  which  men  can  be 
controlled.  The  one  is  by  fear.  This  has  been  adopted 
by  most  governments  hitherto.  By  appealing  to  their 
immediate  and  supposed  interests,  the  rulers  have  attached 
to  themselves  in  the  form  of  standing  armies,  a  portion  of 
their  subjects,  and  these  they  have  employed  to  keep  the 
remainder  in  fear.  But  where  fear  and  interest  are  the 
highest  motives  known,  the  action  of  the  government  can 
have  no  tendency  to  elevate  the  people.  Fear  is  a  prin- 
ciple which  man  hais  in  common  with  the  brutes  ;  but  if 
man  is  to  be  governed  as  man,  it  must  be  by  an  appeal  to 
his  distinctive  nature — to  those  faculties  which  make  him 
man.     Hence  the  second  method  of  controlling  men,  is 


472 

through  their  affections,  acting  in  subordination  to  their 
rational  and  moral  nature.  Fear  is  a  force  that  presses 
from  without,  and  in  this  respect  finds  no  analogy  in  any 
of  those  agencies  by  which  nature  builds  up  her  beautiful 
and  organized  structures,  or  carries  on  her  grand  operations. 
It  is  attraction,  that  forms  the  crystal,  that  keeps  in  its 
place  every  particle  of  the  body,  and  that  holds  the  orbs 
of  heaven  in  their  appointed  path.  But  affection  is  the 
attraction  of  the  moral  world  ;  and  if  any  government  is 
ever  to  move  on  with  the  harmony  and  beauty  of  the 
planetary  system,  it  must  be  by  a  central  force  drawing 
the  affections  of  the  people  to  itself,  and  holding  every 
man  in  a  bright  path  of  patriotism  from  which  he  would 
not  willingly  escape.  Let  a  government  share  the  warm- 
est and  best  affections  of  the  people,  and  who  does  not 
see  that  it  would  be  the  strongest  possible,  and  would 
call  into  activity  for  its  support,  and  strengthen,  the 
best  powers  of  our  nature  ?  How  then  can  a  govern- 
ment become  thus  strong  in  the  affections  of  its  people  ? 
Not  through  names,  and  forms,  and  preambles,  and 
written  constitutions  ;  not  by  the  right  of  ignorance,  and 
corruption,  and  scoundrelism,  to  choose  their  own  rulers 
in  their  own  likeness  ;  not  even  by  that  inalienable  right 
of  good  men  to  believe  professions  before  election  and  to 
be  disappointed  afterwards  ; — because  every  government 
has  been,  and  will  be,  far  more  a  government  of  men 
than  of  constitutions.  It  can  only  be,  by  having  for 
rulers,  great  men  after  the  type  of  greatness  indicated  by 
our  Saviour,  and  thus  establishing  the  true  relations 
between  the  rulers  and  the  ruled. 

Hitherto  the  world  has  called  those  great  men,  who 
have  attracted  attention  to  themselves,  and  accumulated 
in  their  own  hands  power,  and  wealth,  and  influence.  He 
who  could  command  the  admiration  of  men  for  his 
prowess  or  his  talents,  who  could  control,  by  fear,  large 
masses,  has  been  called  great.     I  will  not  deny  that  he  is 


473 

so  ;  bat  there  is  a  greatness  of  another  order.  It  is  one 
which  takes  for  its  principle  and  motive,  not  the  attract- 
ing to  itself  of  the  objects  of  ambition,  but,  in  the  forget- 
fulness  of  self,  the  diffusion  of  benefits.  It  is  one  which 
will  not  hesitate  to  make  sacrifices,  and  to  lay  down  life 
itself  for  the  good  of  others,  ''even  as  the  Son  of  man 
came,  not  to  be  ministered  unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to 
give  his  life  a  ransom  for  many."  Now  when  a  disposi- 
tion to  make  sacrifices  and  to  do  extensive  good,  instead 
of  skill  and  power  to  appropriate  what  is  good  to  them- 
selves, shall  be  taken  as  the  standard  of  greatness,  and 
when  great  talents  shall  find  their  highest  exertions  in 
this  direction,  then  the  people  will  see  in  such  men  an 
impersonation,  not  merely  of  the  principles  of  their  con- 
stitution, but  of  the  goodness  of  God,  and  millions  will 
be  ready  to  bare  their  own  bosoms  to  danger,  before  they 
will  suffer  a  hair  of  the  head  of  such  an  one  to  perish. 
This  affection  would  evidently  be  the  strongest  where 
the  benefits  and  the  liberty  conferred  were  the  greatest  ; 
and  thus  the  problem  would  be  solved — to  construct 
a  government  that  should  be  strong  and  efficient  in 
proportion  as  it  should  be  free.  The  feeling  which  has 
existed  in  this  country,  and  still  exists,  towards  Washing- 
ton, is  some  illustration  of  the  affection  which  would 
be  given  to  a  government  administered  for  ages  as  he 
would  have  administered  it.  Who  can  estimate  the 
strength  of  those  bonds  which  would  hold  a  virtuous 
people  to  such  a  government  ?  Who  will  say  that  a 
government  so  constituted,  would  not  be  in  accordance 
with  the  nature  of  man  ? 

But  however  fully  governments  may  secure  the  con- 
ditions specified,  and  with  whatever  aflection  they  may 
be  regarded,  still,  as  institutions  by  which  character  is  to 
be  moulded,  and  the  powers  of  the  intellect  are  to  be 
called  forth,  there  may  be  great  room  for  choice  among 
different  forms.  Hence,  I  observe  once  more,  that  that 
60 


474 

form  of  government  will  be  most  in  accordance  with  the 
nature  of  man,  which  shall  tend  most  fully  to  quicken 
and  invigorate  the  intellectual  powers. 

These  faculties  acquire  strength  only  by  activity — and 
it  cannot  be  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  all  the 
complex  questions  relating  to  the  structure  and  adminis- 
tration of  government  shall  be  thrown  before  the  people 
for  their  free  and  practical  discussion,  or  whether  the 
movements  of  the  government  shall  either  be  veiled  in 
mystery,  or,  at  best,  be  like  those  of  the  stars,  which  the 
speculative  may  study  and  admire,  but  concerning  which 
they  have  no  responsibility,  and  over  which  they  have  no 
control.  Whether,  therefore,  we  consider  the  nature  of 
the  questions  involved  in  the  theory  of  government  and 
in  practical  legislation,  or  the  immediate  interest  of  every 
man  in  those  questions,  nothing,  except  the  Christian 
religion,  can  be  better  fitted  to  quicken  and  strengthen 
the  intellect,  and  to  elevate  a  people  in  general  intelli- 
gence, than  a  free  and  full  discussion  of  those  questions 
by  each  individual,  under  the  responsibilities  of  one 
whose  vote  may  turn  the  scale  in  their  practical  decision. 
Hence,  a  government  like  ours  is  not  merely  a  govern- 
ment, but  a  great  school  for  the  discussion  of  questions 
relating  to  the  interests,  and  rights,  and  duties  of  social 
man.  And  these  discussions  will  not  be  those  of  the 
philosopher  in  his  closet,  who  regards  every  lever  in  the 
machinery  of  government  as  inflexible,  and  the  ropes  in 
its  pulleys  as  having  no  friction,  and  who  will  persist  in 
attempting  to  make  his  theories  fit  the  actual  condition 
and  wants  of  the  people  when  they  will  not  fit ;  but  they 
Avill  be  the  discussions  of  earnest,  practical  men,  who 
know  their  own  wants,  and  who,  though  they  may  be 
mistaken  for  a  time,  will  not  be  likely  to  sit  down  quiet- 
ly under  a  system  that  does  not  practically  work  well. 
They  may  consent  to  be  bound  for  a  time  with  the  new 
ropes  and  green  withes  of  political  abstractionists,  and  of 


475 

party  organization ;  but  when  the  cry  of  interest  or  of 
want  rings  in  their  ears,  they  will  break  them  ''  as  a 
thread  of  tow  is  broken  when  it  toucheth  the  fire."  All 
this  may,  indeed,  tend  to  turn  the  attention  too  much  to 
what  is  sometimes  regarded  as  alone  practical — to  the 
material  and  sensible  interests  of  society  ;  but  where  a 
pure  Christianity  prevails,  the  higher  nature  of  man  will 
assert  its  claims,  and  thus  all  our  wants,  as  intellectual 
beings,  will  be  met.  The  English  and  American  charac- 
ter is  undoubtedly  what  it  is,  in  practical  power,  and  in 
its  leading  and  growing  influence  among  the  nations, 
because  it  has  been  formed  in  such  a  school.  How  very 
different  is  this  character  from  that  of  other  nations  ! 
How  difl'erent  from  what  it  would  have  been,  if  the 
people  had  had  no  part  in  the  government ;  and  if,  as  is 
generally  the  case  where  they  have  not,  they  had  not 
been  allowed  a  free  discussion  of  its  measures  ! 

Whether,  then,  we  consider  the  conditions  it  secures, 
or  the  principles  to  which  it  appeals,  or  the  faculties  it 
excites,  I  think  we  may  say  that  a  government  and  state 
of  society  based  on  equality  and  aflection,  would  be  more 
in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  man  than  any  other. 

In  presenting  these  views,  I  advocate  no  theory  of 
abstract  right,  and  no  application  of  any  principle  to 
society  in  its  present  state,  farther  than  would  be  war- 
ranted by  a  sound  discretion.  Let  not  the  child  encum- 
ber itself,  and  incur  ridicule,  by  attempting  to  wear  the 
garments  of  a  man.  Let  not  society  be  allured  to  part 
with  any  available  safeguard,  or  practical  good,  for  the 
outward  forms  of  a  perfection,  the  reality  of  which  can 
become  possible  only  through  changes  of  individual  char- 
acter. But  while  there  are  tendencies  on  the  one  hand 
towards  an  impracticable  and  Jacobinical  equality,  unbal- 
anced and  uncemented  by  principle  and  affection,  and 
while,  on  the  other,  it  is  painfully  evident  that  those 
principles  which   lie  at  the  foundation  of  the  different 


476 

ranks  in  church  and  in  state  in  the  old  world,  are  active 
here,  so  that  those  are  not  wanting  who  would  prefer  that 
order  of  things, — my  wish  would  be,  that  those  who 
guide  the  vessel  that  embosoms  all  our  hopes  as  a  nation, 
might  lift  up  their  eyes  to  th^it  beacon  light  kindled  by 
the  Bible,  which  was  seen  so  clearly  by  our  Fathers,  and 
which  alone  can  guide  us  to  a  land  where  the  people  may 
"dwell  in  a  peaceful  habitation,  and  in  sure  dwellings, 
and  in  quiet  resting  places."  When  will  men  learn,  that 
it  is  only  "the  work  of  righteousness"  that  shall  be 
"peace,"  and  "the  effect  of  righteousness"  that  shall  be 
"  quietness  and  assurance  forever  "  ? 

But,  to  the  form  of  government  and  of  society  here 
presented,  it  is  objected  that  it  would  be  incompatible 
with  the  right  culture  of  a  spirit  of  reverence,  and  loy- 
alty, and  subordination  ;  and  also  that  it  must  produce  a 
dull  and  prosaic  level  of  society  unfavorable  to  the  devel- 
opment of  any  high  poetic  feeling.  Each  of  these 
objections,  would  the  time  permit,  might  well  demand  a 
separate  answer  ;  but  since  reverence  and  poetic  feeling 
are  often  excited  by  the  same  qualities,  or  by  those  which 
are  allied  to  each  other,  the  same  general  remarks  may 
apply  to  both. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  any  thing  that  would  dimin- 
ish aught  from  the  genuine  reverence  which  any  human 
being  might  otherwise  feel  in  the  presence  of  God,  or 
his  works,  or  towards  those  institutions  of  society  which 
were  ordained  by  Him  ;  or  that  would  despoil  society  of 
one  grace  which  the  unperverted  eye  of  a  poet  might 
find  there.  Far  rather  would  I  add  to  these,  till  the 
fittest  emblem  of  life  should  become  the  hymn,  in  which 
the  highest  worship  is  blended  with  the  highest  poetry. 
Are,  then,  these  objections  valid  ?  In  my  view,  it  might 
as  truly  be  said,  that  the  destruction  of  idolatry  and 
polytheism,  and  of  the  old  mythology,  tended  to  destroy 
the  principle  of  reverence,  and  to  diminish  poetic  feeling, 


477 

as  that  the  destruction  of  any  artificial  form  of  society- 
must  necessarily  do  this.  Indeed  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  there  is  an  analogy  between  these  two  cases  which 
deserves  attention,  and  that  what  the  spiritual  system  of 
the  Bible,  and  the  Newtonian  system  of  the  universe,  are 
to  the  old  system  of  heathen  mythology,  just  that  are  our 
simple  forms  of  worship,  and  society,  and  government,  to 
those  in  which  there  are  pompous  rituals,  and  hereditary 
distinctions,  and  entailed  property,  and  orders  established 
by  law. 

Let  us  look  at  this.  How  beautiful  was  that  mythol- 
ogy !  How  adapted  to  inspire  reverence  !  How  did  it 
people  heaven,  and  earth,  and  ocean,  with  its  creations  ! 
How  did  it  give  sanctity  to  every  grove,  and  hill-top, 
and  fountain,  and  garden,  and  fireside,  by  enshrining 
there  some  god  or  goddess  peculiar  to  the  place  !  How 
did  it  furnish  materials  for  sculpture  and  painting,  and 
enable  poetry  to  clothe  its  conceptions  of  the  powers  of 
nature  in  forms  available  to  the  imagination,  so  that  men 
are  found  even  at  this  day,  and  those  too  who  have  read 
David  and  Isaiah,  who  think  it  necessary  to  defend  the 
works  of  God  as  if  they  might  not  be  as  well  adapted  to 
poetry  as  these  fables  !  Again,  how  adapted,  in  one 
sense,  was  all  this  to  human  nature  ?  Look  at  the 
antiquity  and  extent  of  the  system.  See  the  ancient 
people  of  God  forsaking  his  altars,  and  going  up  to  the 
groves  and  high  places.  See  the  whole  world,  from  the 
polished  Greek,  to  the  equally  polished  Hindoo  with  his 
three  hundred  millions  of  gods,  going  after  this  system, 
and  only  the  remnant  of  a  single  nation  holding  fast  to 
the  spiritual  worship  of  the  one  God.  Was  not  this  con- 
clusive evidence  that  the  one  was  adapted  to  human 
nature  and  the  other  not  ?  Was  it  possible,  then,  to  give 
up  such  a  system  as  this,  that  had  woven  itself  in  with 
all  the  time-hallowed  associations,  and  kind  feelings,  and 
joyous   occasions  of  life,  for  Christianity,  that   had   no 


478 

temple,  no  altar,  no  priest,  no  sacrifice,  no  incense  ?  What 
votary  of  taste,  or  of  the  muses,  could  endure  the  thought  ? 
But  Christ  and  his  Apostles,  who  knew  what  was  in  man, 
and  what  was  truly  adapted  to  his  nature,  seem  to  have 
been  utterly  unaffected  by  all  this  fine  sentiment  and  fine 
reasoning.  They  struck  down  the  false  system,  and  in  the 
shock  of  its  fall,  if  never  before,  were  revealed  the  loath- 
someness and  corruption  which  had  been  concealed,  with 
Satanic  skill,  under  the  forms  of  poetry  and  of  art. 

But  see  the  affinity  of  human  nature  for  this  system 
still — greater  even  than  that  which  it  has  shown,  and  is 
still  showing  for  monarchy  and  caste  in  its  various  forms. 
No  sooner  had  Christianity  triumphed,  than  precisely 
the  same  system,  under  different  names  and  forms,  was 
introduced  into  the  Christian  church.  The  identical 
image  of  Jupiter  became  the  image  of  St.  Peter,  and 
the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  saints  took  the  place  of  the  local 
divinities,  the  Christian  teacher  degenerated  into  a  priest, 
and  the  sacrament  of  the  supper  became  a  sacrifice. 
Certainly  there  is  a  sense,  a  bad  sense,  in  which  this 
system  is  adapted  to  human  nature,  and  so  adapted  that  I 
must  think  that  that  nature  would  have  been  forever 
crushed  beneath  its  weight,  but  for  the  direct  interpo- 
sition of  God.  In  the  Reformation  that  interposition  was 
manifest ;  it  was  manifest  in  the  event  which  we  cel- 
ebrate to-day  ;  and  now  we  can  see  how  infinitely  superior 
is  the  foolishness  of  God  to  the  wisdom  of  men — how 
infinitely  higher,  and  deeper,  and  purer,  is  that  reverence 
which  connects  itself  with  the  simplest  forms  of  Puritan 
worship,  in  which  man  goes  directly  to  God  through 
the  one  Mediator,  than  that  which  is  connected  with 
bells,  and  incense,  and  burning  lights,  and  relics,  and 
pictures,  and  changes  of  vestments. 

But  precisely  the  same  arguments,  in  their  basis  certain- 
ly, and  often  in  their  form,  which  may  be  and  have  been 
used  for  the  old  and  the   new   forms  of  paganism  and 


479 

idolatry,  are  those  which  are  used  in  favor  of  monarchy, 
and  of  a  distinction  of  ranks  in  society.  Is  one  of  these 
adapted  to  human  nature  ?  So  is  the  other,  and  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  way.  Has  one,  antiquity  and  the  example 
of  the  mass  of  the  race  in  its  favor  ?  So  has  the  other ; 
and  the  arguments  for  both  are  based  on  the  incapacity  of 
the  people  to  preserve  the  spirit  of  reverence,  and  to  per- 
ceive beauty  in  connection  with  simple  forms,  and  with- 
out constant  and  imposing  appeals  to  the  senses,  and  to 
the  principle  of  association  as  connected  with  sensible 
things.  Of  course  these  systems  are  allied  to  each  other. 
Everywhere,  except  indeed  in  this  country,  established 
religious  orders  have  favored  or  upheld  established  orders 
in  the  state  ;  and  monarchy  was  never  truer  to  its  in- 
stincts than  when  it  uttered  the  sentiment,  "  No  bishop, 
no  king." 

Was  it  then  possible,  that  at  the  word  of  one  who  had 
not  where  to  lay  his  head,  and  who  expired  on  the 
cross,  the  magnificent  system  of  the  Jewish  hierarchy 
and  temple  worship  should  come  down  ;  and  that  by  the 
same  word  the  temples,  and  rites,  and  priesthoods  of 
heathenism  should  dissapear ;  and  yet  the  principle  of 
reverence  be  safe  ?  So  thought  our  Saviour.  And  shall 
we  fear  for  it  because  our  Fathers  followed  his  example, 
and  so  attempt  to  prop  up  the  spiritual  heavens  which  he 
has  created  ?  Shall  we  fear  for  that  principle  in  the  state, 
because  the  venerable  form  of  Law,  despoiled  of  none  of 
her  divine  beauty,  but  with  added  benignity  on  her  brow, 
comes  to  us  as  the  expression  of  the  concentrated  wisdom 
of  the  state,  rather  than  as  the  irresponsible  mandate  of 
an  individual  seated  upon  an  hereditary  throne  ?  No  ;  let 
a  religious  people  find  themselves  blessed  by  the  power 
and  presence  of  God  in  their  religious  institutions  ;  let 
an  intelligent  people  find  themselves  protected  in  their 
rights  by  their  civil  institutions  ;  let  a  social  people  find 
themselves  united  in  their  affections  as   neighbors   and 


480 

fellow-citizens  ;  and  the  plainer  and  simpler  the  garb  in 
which  the  forms  of  these  divinely  appointed  institutions 
shall  be  clothed,  the  more  will  they  venerate  those  great 
realities  which  the  forms  express,  and  see  in  them  an 
analogy  to  those  simple  but  mighty  energies  by  which 
God  governs  his  physical  creation.  Our  Fathers  never 
went  against  the  principle  of  reverence.  They  sustained 
it  most  fully.  No  man  can  better  understand  the  danger 
to  which  institutions  like  ours  are  exposed  in  this  direc- 
tion, or  the  true  principle  of  their  safety,  (that  is,  the 
recognition  of  God  in  them,)  than  did  that  remarkable 
man,  the  Rev.  John  Robinson.  Hear  him  in  his  advice 
to  those  who  first  came  over.  ''  Lastly,  whereas  you  are 
to  become  a  body  politic,  using  amongst  yourselves  civil 
government,  and  are  not  furnished  with  any  persons  of 
special  eminency  above  the  rest  to  be  chosen  by  you  into 
office  of  government,  let  your  wisdom  and  godliness 
appear  not  only  in  choosing  such  persons  as  do  entirely 
love  and  will  diligently  promote  the  common  good,  but 
also  in  yielding  unto  them  all  due  honor  and  obedience  in 
their  lawful  administrations,  not  beholding  in  them  the 
ordinariness  of  their  persons,  but  God's  ordinance  for 
your  good  ;  nor  being  like  the  foolish  multitude,  who 
more  honor  the  gay  coat  than  either  the.  virtuous  mind  of 
the  man,  or  glorious  ordinance  of  the  Lord.  But  you 
know  better  things,  and  that  the  image  of  the  Loi-d's 
power  and  authority,  which  the  magistrate  beareth,  is 
honorable,  in  how  mean  persons  soever.  And  this  duty 
you  both  may  the  more  willingly  and  ought  the  more 
conscionably  to  perform,  because  you  are,  at  least  for  the 
present,  to  have  only  them  for  your  ordinary  governors 
which  yourselves  shall  make  choice  of  for  that  work." 
The  great  principle  of  this  advice  New  England  has 
always  adopted.  If  we  distinguish  reverence  from  blind 
submission  and  superstition,  there  is  no  country  on  earth 
where  this  principle  has  been  so  well  sustained.     But  then 


481 

we  think  there  are  some  things  which  are  so  great,  that 
they  make  their  highest  impression  when  they  stand  most 
alone.  We  do  not  think  that  a  crown  placed  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Wasliington,  would  add  any  thing  to  its 
sublimity  ;  far  less  do  we  think  it  would  have  added  any 
thing  to  the  simple  grandeur  of  the  character  of  him  from 
whom  that  mountain  has  its  name.  We  believe  that 
there  is  enough  in  God  and  his  works,  seen  as  they  are  ; 
in  the  institutions  of  society,  regarded  as  his ;  and  in  men 
fairly  estimated  ;  to  keep  alive  the  principle  of  reverence  ; 
and  we  are  willing  to  leave  intelligent  and  Christian  men 
to  make  their  own  estimate. 

Reverence  and  order  being  thus  secured,  we  have  no 
fears  that  there  will  not  be  enough  of  variety,  and  of 
poetic  feeling.  We  should  as  soon  fear  a  want  of  variety 
in  the  circlings  and  movements  of  a  flock  of  swallows 
thrown  into  the  free  air  ;  and  poetic  feeling,  whatever 
form  it  may  assume,  will  live  and  find  expression  wherever 
freedom  is,  while  nature  and  man  remain  the  same. 

The  civil  institutions  of  our  Fathers  having  attained 
the  ends  of  government,  no  one  now  questions  their 
legitimacy.  It  is  fully  conceded,  that  a  body  of  men 
associated  for  the  purposes  of  government,  and  attaining 
its  ends,  is  a  State.  But  it  is  not  conceded  by  all,  that  a 
body  of  Christians  associated  as  a  Church,  and,  so  far  as 
man  can  see,  attaining  its  appropriate  ends,  is  a  Church. 
Hence  the  course  of  our  Fathers  is  objected  against  as 
schismatical.  But  on  what  principle  were  they  schismat- 
ical  ?  As  we  understand  it,  on  the  same  principle  with 
some  of  old,  who  determined  to  serve  God  without 
regard  to  the  abuses  and  corruptions  of  a  national  church, 
and  who,  in  consequence,  "  had  trial  of  cruel  mockings 
and  scourgings,  yea,  moreover,  of  bonds  and  imprison- 
ment ;  they  were  stoned,  they  were  sawn  asunder,  were 
tempted,  were  slain  with  the  sword  :  they  wandered 
about  in  -  sheep-skins  and  goat-skins  ;  being  destitute, 
61 


482 

afflicted,  tormented ;  (of  whom  the  world  was  not 
worthy:)  they  wandered  in  deserts,  and  in  mountains, 
and  in  dens  and  caves  of  tiie  earth."  These  men  were 
not  persecuted  by  the  heathen,  but  by  the  nominal 
church — the  established  church — by  that  people  upon 
whom  came  "  all  the  righteous  blood  shed  upon  the  earth 
from  the  blood  of  righteous  Abel  unto  the  blood  of 
Zacharias,  son  of  Barachias,  whom  they  slew  between 
the  temple  and  the  altar.  "  Ah  !  that  is  the  place — as  it 
were  between  the  temple  and  the  altar — where  many  a 
righteous  man,  under  the  name  of  a  schismatic,  has  been 
slain  in  the  name  of  God,  by  the  scribes,  and  pharisees, 
and  hypocrites  of  his  day,  who  have  claimed  to  be  the 
only  true  church.  Between  the  case  of  these  men  and 
that  of  our  Fathers  there  is  a  striking  analogy,  and  we 
wait  for  a  definition  of  schism  that  would  make  our 
fathers  schismatics,  and  would  not  make  these  worthies 
equally  so — that  would  not  make  Christianity  itself,  and 
the  Reformation,  schisms — that  would  not  make  schismat- 
ics of  all  the  martyrs  with  whose  blood  the  Romish 
church  has  been  drunken  all  down  the  ages — that  would 
not  make  schismatics  of  the  English  martyrs  under  the 
bloody  Mary.  No  idea  can  be  more  utterly  baseless  than 
that  of  any  one  organization  which  can  be  called  the 
church,  from  which,  when  it  should  become  greatly  cor- 
rupt, it  would  be  a  sin  for  true  Christians  to  separate,  that 
they  might  associate  on  the  principles  of  the  Bible.  The 
sin  of  schism  consists  in  causing  divisions  in  single 
churches,  and  not  at  all  in  coming  out  from  a  corrupt 
general  organization  not  recognized  by  the  Scriptures,  for 
the  purpose  of  following  Christ. 

Allied  to  the  objection  just  mentioned,  is  another,  that 
our  Fathers  had  not  sufficient  regard  to  the  historical 
development  of  the  church — that  they  went  directly  to 
the  Bible,  and  back  to  primitive  times,  and  made  no 
account  of  the  experience  and  progress  of  the  church  for 


483 

seventeen  centuries.  There  is  a  class  of  thinkers  who 
seem  to  suppose  that  the  great  object  for  which  the  world 
stands,  is  what  they  call  progress.  By  this,  they  do  not 
mean  the  progress  of  a  great  experiment  upon  human 
nature,  by  which  its  corruptions  and  opposition  to  God, 
and  the  great  goodness  and  forbearance  of  God,  are 
brought  out  in  every  conceivable  form  ;  but  they  mean 
something,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  precisely  what, 
that  would  be  compatible  with  all  the  awful  and  long- 
continued  defections  and  corruptions,  both  of  the  Jewish 
and  of  the  Christian  church.  It  is  true  that  our  Fathers 
received  the  Bible  alone  as  authority,  and  regarded  the 
apostolic  age  as  the  purest  age  of  the  church.  But  few 
men  ever  lived,  as  it  would  be  easy  to  show,  of  a  more 
truly  liberal  and  catholic  spirit  than  Robinson.  Neither 
he  nor  his  church  intended  to  separate  from  any  thing 
good.  They  believed  in  the  unity  of  the  church,  they 
wished  communion  with  all  true  Christians,  and  though 
they  may  have  misjudged  in  some  things,  yet  they 
rejected  nothing  rashly  and  fanatically,  which  had  been 
handed  down  by  history  or  tradition.  These  principles 
on  which  they  thus  acted,  we  regard  as  the  true  princi- 
ples ;  we  adopt  them,  and  intend  to  abide  by  them. 

The  institutions  of  our  Fathers,  then,  having  for  their 
basis,  both  in  church  and  in  state,  the  idea  of  brother- 
hood—  of  equality  and  affection  —  not  only  exist,  but 
have  a  right  to  exist.  They  have  been  tested,  now,  in 
various  forms,  on  this  soil,  for  more  than  two  hundred 
years  ;  and  imperfectly  as  their  true  spirit  has  been  per- 
ceived and  exemplified,  and  great  as  have  been  the 
disturbing  forces  from  the  continual  and  prodigious  influx 
of  incongruous  elements,  we  are  willing  to  bring  them  to 
the  scriptural  test,  and  to  judge  them  by  their  fruits. 
Where  has  God  been  more  generally  feared  and  worship- 
ped ?  Where  has  the  Sabbath  been  better  observed  ? 
Where   has    education    been    more    generally    diffused  ? 


484 

Where  have  the  people  been  more  enterprising,  or  accumu- 
lated wealth  more  rapidly  ?  Where  has  there  been  greater 
security  of  person  and  of  property,  and  more  kind  neigh- 
borhood ?  Where  has  justice  been  more  ably  and  impar- 
tially administered  ?  Where  have  the  triumphs  of  inven- 
tion and  of  the  useful  arts  been  more  signal  ?  Would  it 
not  have  required  all  the  faith  of  our  Fathers  to  believe  it, 
if  by  some  magic  glass,  the  summit  of  Saddle  mountain, 
more  than  two  hundred  miles  distant,  had  been  pointed 
out,  and  it  had  been  revealed  to  them  that  these  triumphs 
should  be  so  great,  that  in  a  little  more  than  two  hundred 
years,  one  should  start  on  the  morning  of  the  shortest 
day  in  the  year  from  beyond  the  base  of  that  mountain, 
and  the  next  morning  be  on  Plymouth  rock,  joining  in 
the  celebration  of  the  event  of  their  landing  ?  Where 
have  the  poor,  and  the  blind,  and  the  insane,  and  the 
imprisoned,  been  more  kindly  and  wisely  provided  for  ? 
Where,  finally,  has  there  been  more  enlightened  and  self- 
denying  labor  for  the  conversion  of  men,  and  for  their 
spiritual  good,  and  more  benevolent  activity  in  sending 
the  gospel  over  the  world  ?  How  different  are  these 
from  the  fruits  realized  in  any  Catholic,  or  despotic 
country  ! 

And  if  such  have  been  the  fruits  of  these  institutions 
hitherto,  how  does  it  become  us  to  understand  their  spirit, 
and  to  see  that  they  are  sustained  in  their  purity !  In  the 
nature  of  things  the  capabilities  of  these  institutions  for 
good  or  for  evil,  are  greater  than  those  of  any  other.  I 
take  a  single  man.  I  see  him  an  intelligent,  virtuous, 
Christian  man,  able  to  control  himself,  and  disposed  to  do 
unto  others  as  he  would  that  they  should  do  unto  him. 
I  see  him  looking  up  to  the  heavens  above  him,  awed  by 
their  greatness,  and  regarding  the  whole  of  this  frame- 
work of  nature  as  one  august  temple  for  the  worship  of 
Him  whose  presence  fills  it  all.  I  surround  this  man 
with  a  family.     I  give   him  a  wife  suitable  for  such  a 


485 

man — one  whose  object  it  has  been,  not  to  attract  admira- 
tion to  herself,  but  who,  while  she  has  seen  in  the 
expanding  flower,  that  opens  every  petal  to  the  sun  and 
sends  from  every  one  its  fragrance,  the  duty  of  cultivating 
and  bringing  out  every  latent  capacity,  has  yet  done  it  for 
the  glory  of  Him  who  gave  those  capacities,  and  that  she 
might  make  others  happy.  I  see  their  children  around 
them,  affectionate,  obedient,  well  instructed.  I  see  them, 
when  the  glad  Sabbath  comes,  going  up  to  the  house  of 
God  together,  with  the  common  feeling  that  they  are 
strangers  and  pilgrims  here,  and  that  they  seek  a  city 
which  hath  foundations.  Are  there  such  families  ?  I 
think  there  are.  I  know  it  is  within  the  capabilities  of 
our  nature  that  there  should  be.  But  if  there  may  be  one 
such  family,  there  may  be  two  ;  and  if  two,  then  a 
neighborhood,  then  a  town,  then  a  county,  a  state,  a 
nation.  A  nation  of  such  men  would  realize  my  idea  of 
the  people.  Let  such  a  people  be  organized  as  their 
wants  might  require,  for  the  expression  of  their  opinions, 
and  the  exertion  of  their  united  energies  for  great  public 
€nds,  and  there  is  no  object  in  nature,  not  even  the 
heaving  ocean,  so  sublime  as  their  intelligent,  deliberate, 
united,  constitutional  action.  Such  a  people  could  never 
need,  could  never  suffer  the  exertion  of  arbitrary  power. 
Such  is  the  picture  which  hope  paints  for  the  future, 
when  she  looks  at  the  capabilities  of  our  institutions,  and 
at  the  power  of  God  through  his  gospel. 

But  there  is  another  picture,  the  reverse  of  this.  In 
that,  instead  of  a  people,  you  have  a  populace.  Let  now, 
among  an  unprincipled  populace,  the  sense  of  religion 
either  degenerate  into  a  mad  superstition,  or  all  idea  of 
any  thing  to  be  truly  reverenced  become  a  mockery  ;  let 
the  Sabbath  be  disregarded,  and  of  course  become  pre- 
eminently a  day  of  wickedness  ;  let  the  marriage  tie 
become  virtually  dissolved,  and  family  affection  cease  ;  let 
selfishness,  and  dishonesty,  and  sensuality,  and  hate,  find 


486 

none  but  outward  restraints ;  and  suppose  a  nation  of  such 
men  shouting  the  watchwords  of  liberty  and  equality, 
with  no  power  to  come  between  their  will  and  its  accom- 
plishment, and  you  have  a  state  of  things  compared  with 
which  the  worst  monarchy  that  ever  existed  would  be  a 
blessing. 

This  is  the  picture  which  despondency  points  at  when 
she  sees  iniquity  in  high  places  ;  when  she  sees  slavery 
yet  wielding  its  lash,  and  extending  its  area  in  this  land 
of  professed  freedom  ;  when  she  hears  of  the  increase  of 
crime,  especially  among  the  young  ;  when  she  sees  the 
pertinacity  of  many  in  tempting  and  ruining  their  fellow- 
men  for  the  sake  of  gain  ;  when  she  hears  ignorant  and 
foolhardy  boastings  about  a  democracy  which  some  would 
either  identify  with  Christianity  or  substitute  for  it  ; 
when  she  sees  the  narrowness  and  madness  of  sectarian 
and  party  feeling  and  strife. 

Which,  then,  of  these  pictures,  shall  be  the  true  one  ? 
Perhaps  neither,  in  all  the  depth  of  its  coloring  ;  but  which 
shall  predominate  in  its  leading  features  ?  If  the  former, 
I  believe  it  can  be  only  because  the  descendants  and  rep- 
resentatives of  the  Puritans  shall  hold  fast,  I  will  not  say 
to  Puritan  principles,  as  if  they  belonged  exclusively  to 
them,  but  I  will  say  to  the  principles  of  the  Puritans. 
Let  us  seek  no  other  basis  for  our  institutions.  Let  us 
all,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  learned  and  unlearned,  in 
the  fear  and  in  the  love  of  God,  seek  to  carry  out  this 
great  principle  of  brotherhood.  Whatever  is  incompatible 
with  this  in  the  spirit  and  forms  of  our  institutions,  let  us 
seek  to  remove.  It  is  this  which  has  swept  slavery  from 
the  soil  of  the  Puritans,  and  which  we  ought  to  labor 
with  every  energy  to  infuse,  till  it  shall  sweep  every  ves- 
tige of  that  dreadful  curse  from  this  land.  It  is  this 
which  will  open  the  heart  of  the  rich  when  he  remembers 
his  poor  and  struggling  brother,  and  which  will  send 
unasked  relief.     This  it  was  that  dictated  the  following 


487 

extract  of  a  letter  dated  just  one  year  ago  this  day,  from 
one  who  has  done  many  greater  things,  but  few  more 
characteristic.  " This  splendid  morning,"  says  he,  "opens 
upon  us  with  such  lessons  as  should  make  us  of  the  old 
Puritan,  Pilgrim  stock  read,  reflect,  and  act  upon  them  as 
their  descendants,  that  when  we  are  summoned  hence,  the 
word  may  be,  '  Come  up.'  "  This  letter  enclosed  one 
hundred  dollars  to  aid  poor  students  in  those  unseen  strug- 
gles with  which  so  few  prosperous  men  sympathise.  This 
deed,  both  in  its  benevolence,  and  in  the  regard  it  indi- 
cates for  education,  was  truly  Puritanical  ;  and  springing 
as  it  did  from  influences  originating  on  this  spot,  I  think 
it  proper  to  mention  it  on  this  spot,  as  an  example  of  that 
spirit  of  brotherhood  which  the  text  would  inculcate. 
Let  the  spirit  of  this  act  prevail  among  the  different  classes 
of  society,  and  it  would  be  as  oil  upon  the  agitated 
waters  ;  the  chief  evils  connected  with  the  necessary  di- 
versity of  condition  among  men  would  cease  ;  and  every- 
where, and  always,  men  would  meet  each  other  as  men, 
and  as  brethren. 

And  now,  my  friends,  is  not  the  star  of  hope  which  we 
see  in  this  direction,  a  beautiful  star  ?  It  is  no  meteor  of 
a  fervid  imagination,  or  of  a  false  philosophy.  It  is  that 
great  idea  of  a  universal  Christian  brotherhood,  pointed 
out  by  Christ,  not  in  the  text  only,  but  everywhere,  as  an 
inherent  part  of  his  system.  This  star  our  Fathers  saw, 
and  is  it  any  wonder,  that  under  its  inspiration  and  guid- 
ance, they  should  come  across  the  ocean  ?  Literally  they 
found  a  landing  here  ;  but  figuratively,  the  vessel  which 
they  launched  is  yet  upon  the  deep,  the  multitude  of  their 
descendants  is  on  board,  and  we  too  catch  glimpses  of  the 
same  bright  star  above  the  troubled  waters.  It  may  be 
that  this  vessel  is  not  destined  to  reach  the  port.  We 
hear  meanings  of  the  tempest,  and  see  aspects  of  the 
elements,  which  lead  us  to  tremble  for  her.  But  where 
the  bright  image  of  this  star  has  once  fallen,  it  can  never 


488 

be  effaced.  This  is  our  star.  To  it  let  the  prow  of  our 
vessel  be  turned.  Let  every  man  be  at  his  post,  never 
ashamed  of  the  plain  rigging  of  his  good  ship,  but  always 
hearing  that  voice  of  duty,  and  of  the  God  of  our  Fathers, 
which  will  speak  above  the  roar  of  every  tempest ;  and 
then,  if  our  ship  must  go  down,  the  will  of  God  be  done. 
But  then  she  will  not  go  down.  Then  the  hand  that 
guided  the  Mayflower,  will  guide  her.  Then  will  there 
be  One  on  board,  as  we  believe  there  always  has  been, 
who,  though  he  may  seem  for  a  time  to  be  asleep  in  the 
hinder  part  of  the  ship,  will  yet  come,  when  the  winds 
are  loudest,  and  the  waves  are  highest,  and  say,  "  Peace, 
be  still." 


SERMON, 


DELIVERED  BEFORE  THE  AMERICAN  AND  FOREIGN  SABBATH  UNION. 
May,  1847. 


If  thou  turn  away  thy  fool  from  the  Sabbath,  from  doing  thy  pleasure  on  my  lioly 
day;  and  call  the  Sabbath  a  delight,  the  holy  of  the  Lord,  honorable;  and  shall 
honor  him,  not  doing  thine  own  ways,  nor  finding  thine  own  pleasure,  nor  speaking 
thine  own  words:  then  shall  thou  delight  thyself  in  the  Lord;  and  I  will  cause 
thee  to  ride  upon  the  high  places  of  the  earth,  and  feed  thee  with  the  heritage  of 
Jacob  thy  father:  for  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  hath  spoken  it. — Isaiah  Ivii.  13,  14. 

It  is  plain,  that  the  purity  and  perpetuity  of  the  civil 
institutions  of  the  Jews  depended  on  their  keeping  the 
Sabbath.  Nothing  can  be  more  explicit  than  the  promise^ 
and  threatenings  of  the  Bible  on  this  point.  It  is  not  in 
the  text  alone,  that  the  Sabbath  is  singled  out,  and  that 
national  blessings  are  made  to  depend  solely  upon  the  per- 
formance of  its  duties.  The  same  thing  is  stated  even 
more  explicitly  by  the  prophet  Jeremiah.  ''  And  it  shall 
come  to  pass,  if  ye  diligently  hearken  unto  me,  saith 
the  Lord,  to  bring  in  no  burden  through  the  gates  of  this 
city  on  the  Sabbath  day,  but  hallow  the  Sabbath  day,  to 
do  no  work  therein ;  then  shall  there  enter  into  the  gates 
of  this  city,  kings  and  princes  sitting  upon  the  throne  of 
David,  riding  in  chariots  and  on  horses,  they,  and  their 
princes,  the  men  of  Judah,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusa- 
lem: and  this  city  shall  remain  forever."  ^'But  if  ye  will 
not  hearken  unto  me  to  hallow  the  Sabbath  day,  and  not 
to  bear  a  burden,  even  entering  in  at  the  gates  of  Jerusa- 
62 


490 

lem  on  the  Sabbath  day ;  then  will  I  kindle  a  fire  in  the 
gates  thereof,  and  it  shall  devour  the  palaces  of  Jerusalem, 
and  it  shall  not  be  quenched."  So  we  find  this  subject 
was  viewed  by  Nehemiah.  He  fearlessly  and  vigorously 
sustained  the  Sabbath,  in  his  capacity  as  a  magistrate,  and 
expressly  assigned  as  a  reason,  its  connection  with  the 
perpetuity  of  their  civil  institutions.  "  In  those  d^ys," 
says  he,  "saw  I  in  Judah  some  treading  wine  presses 
on  the  Sabbath,  and  bringing  in  sheaves,  and  lading  asses  ; 
as  also  wine,  grapes,  and  figs,  and  all  manner  of  burdens, 
whicji  they  brought  into  Jerusalem  on  the  Sabbath  day : 
and  I  testified  against  them  in  the  day  wherein  they  sold 
victuals.  There  dwelt  men  of  Tyre  also  therein,  which 
brought  fish,  and  all  manner  of  ware,  and  sold  on  the 
Sabbath  unto  the  children  of  Judah,  and  in  Jerusalem. 
Then  I  contended  with  the  nobles  of  Judah,  and  said 
unto  them.  What  evil  thing  is  this  that  ye  do,  and  profane 
the  Sabbath  day  ?  Did  not  your  fathers  thus,  and  did 
not  our  God  bring  all  this  evil  upon  us,  and  upon  this 
city  ?  Yet  ye  bring  more  wrath  upon  Israel  by  profaning 
the  Sabbath."  In  the  Chronicles,  we  find  it  assigned  as 
the  object  of  the  captivity,  that  the  land  might  enjoy  her 
Sabbath  ;  ''for,"  it  is  said,  "as  long  as  she  lay  desolate 
she  kept  Sabbath."  In  these  passages  the  Sabbath  stands 
alone  ;  in  others,  we  find  it  associated  with  the  highest 
moral  duties,  and  sustained  by  the  same  sanctions  with 
them.  Thus,  either  through  the  natural  laws  of  God,  or 
by  his  direct  interposition,  there  was  a  peculiar  connection 
between  the  national  prosperity  of  the  Jews  and  the  keep- 
ing of  the  Sabbath. 

But  the  duties  of  the  Sabbath  grow  out  of  no  peculiar 
relation  of  the  Jews  to  God ;  the  promises  and  threaten- 
ings  connected  with  it  are  such  as  we  never  find  connect- 
ed with  any  mere  ritual  or  ceremonial  observances,  and 
show  conclusively  that  he  who  uttered  them  regarded 
the  law  of  the   Sabbath  as  of  equal  authority  with  the 


491 

rest  of  the  decalogue ;  and  we  believe  that  the  history  of 
God's  providence,  both  with  regard  to  individuals  and  to 
communities,  will  show  that  this  law  is  still  unrepealed. 
Well  then  may  we  consider,  as  we  now  propose  to  do, 
"  The  Importance  of  the  Sabbath  to  the  Purity  and 
Perpetuity  of  Free  Institutions  " — those  under  which 
we  live,  and  in  the  success  of  which  all  the  hopes  of  our 
country  are  placed. 

And  here  the  first  point  to  be  noticed  is,  that  the  per- 
petuity of  free  institutions  must  depend  on  their  purity. 
It  would  not  be  honorable  to  the  providential  government 
of  God,  nor  for  the  best  interests  of  man,  that  corrupt 
institutions,  under  whatever  form,  should  be  permanent. 
Corruption,  seeking  to  work  out  its  own  ends,  must  come 
into  collision  with  every  principle  of  the  virtuous,  and 
with  every  instinct  of  society  for  self-preservation ;  and 
such  a  state  of  things  neither  can,  nor  ought  to  be,  quiet, 
or  permanent.  There  will  be,  and  we  say,  let  there  be, 
overturnings,  and  overturnings,  till  He  shall  come  whose 
right  it  is  to  reign,  and  who  will  reign  rightly.  But  free 
institutions,  just  in  proportion  as  they  are  free,  must  fur- 
nish scope  for  this  corruption  to  do  its  work,  and  this  can 
be  prevented  only  by  keeping  them  pure.  The  danger  to 
such  institutions  noio^  is  not  from  without,  but  from  cor- 
ruption within,  working  in  the  name  and  under  the  forms 
of  liberty — wearing  her  garb,  and  using  her  watchwords. 

What  then  do  we  mean  by  the  purity  of  free  institu- 
tions? This  must  refer  both  to  the  spirit  ni  which  they 
are  administered,  and  to  the  ends  which  they  secure. 
The  administration  of  free  institutions  in  their  true  spirit, 
implies  a  right  state  of  the  moral  nature ;  a  choice  of 
right  ends,  and  of  the  means  of  attaining  them,  implies 
an  enlightened  intellect ;  and  hence /ree  institutions  will 
be  pure,  only  when  all  who  vote,  and  all  who  hold  office, 
shall  be  intellectually  qualified  to  perform  those  functions 
well,  and  when   they  shall  perforin  them  from  proper 


492 

motives.  Thus,  and  thus  only,  can  these  institutions  be 
rightly  administered,  and  their  legitimate  ends  be  secured. 
This  is  only  another  form  of  affirming  the  necessity  of 
knowledge  and  virtue  in  the  individuals  composing  a  free 
community — the  necessity,  not  certainly,  as  is  often  sup- 
posed, of  all  knowledge,  but  only  of  that  knowledge  of 
rights  and  of  duties  which  is  indispensable  to  virtue  and 
subservient  to  it. 

If  this  idea  of  the  purity  of  free  institutions  be  cor- 
rect, we  are  thrown  back,  for  every  rational  ground  of 
confidence  in  their  perpetuity,  upon  the  elevation  and 
purity  of  individual  character.  That  this  is  the  true 
foundation  of  institutions  really  free,  the  only  condition 
on  which  they  can  be  enjoyed,  or  be  permanent,  was 
clearly  seen  by  our  Fathers ;  and  is  in  accordance  with  the 
plainest  principles  of  common  sense,  and  with  the  methods 
by  which  God  accomplishes  ends  in  his  natural  government. 
In  estimating  the  duration  of  a  house,  does  common  sense 
regard  chiefly  its  form,  or  the  nature  of  the  materials 
and  the  manner  in  which  they  are  united  ?  In  holding 
this  globe  together,  does  God  hoop  about  a  vast  mass  of 
loose  particles  by  an  external  force  ?  or  does  he  bestow 
gravitation  upon  every  individual  particle,  and  thus  secure 
the  permanence  of  the  whole  by  the  qualities  of  the  indi- 
vidual parts  ?  The  attempt  to  effect  any  radical  improve- 
ment in  society,  merely  by  different  forms  of  association, 
is  an  attempt  to  make  particles  of  sand  adhere  together 
by  changing  their  position.  Remaining  as  they  are,  they 
will  not  adhere,  and  it  will  avail  nothing  to  put  them  in 
the  form  of  a  triangle  or  a  square  or  an  octagon.  No,  if 
mortar  is  to  be  made  of  sand,  it  must  be  done  by  adding 
lime,  and  when  every  particle  shall  have  thus  acquired  an 
adhesive  property,  a  solid  body  may  be  formed  that  shall 
endure  for  ages.  This  condition,  so  clearly  seen  by  our 
Fathers,  we  ought  to  see  and  cheerfully  to  accept.  We 
ought  to  regard  it  as  a  high  distinction  of  free  institu- 


493 

tions,  that  they  become  pure  and  perfect  only  as  those  for 
whom  they  are  administered  advance  towards  their  true 
dignity  and  end,  regarded  as  members  of  the  higher 
economy  of  God's  government. 

From  what  has  now  been  said,  it  will  appear,  that  in 
considering  the  importance  of  the  Sabbath  to  the  per- 
petuity of  free  institutions,  we  have  only  to  regard  its 
effect  upon  their  purity,  that  is,  virtually  and  ultimately, 
upon  individual  character. 

Nor,  in  considering  this,  is  it  to  be  supposed  that  the 
purity  of  free  institutions  will  depend  solely  on  any  one 
thing.  The  life  of  man,  simple  as  it  seems  in  itself,  does 
not  depend  upon  warmth  alone,  or  upon  air  or  food  alone, 
but  upon  the  combined  agency  of  them  all,  and  if  any 
one  of  them  should  be  removed,  life  would  cease.  So 
there  may  be,  and  we  suppose  there  is,  a  circle  of  agencies 
each  of  which  is  indispensable  to  the  life  of  a  free  people, 
and  it  becomes  a  question  for  the  philosopher  and  states- 
man, no  less  than  for  the  divine,  to  ascertain  what  these 
are.  Now  what  we  say  is,  that  the  Sabbath,  suitably  ob- 
served, comes  within  this  circle.  We  would  not  exag- 
gerate its  influence  ;  we  would  detract  nothing  from  the 
value  of  other  agencies — of  family  government — of  popu- 
lar education — of  a  purified  literature.  These,  and  other 
agencies,  may  come  within  this  circle  ;  but  what  we  now 
assert,  what  we  wish  to  establish  in  this  discourse,  as  sus- 
tained both  by  reason  and  by  revelation,  is,  that  the  Sab- 
bath, suitably  observed,  does  come  there. 

This  position  I  would  now  proceed  to  sustain  ;  but  it 
cannot  be  done  understandingly,  unless,  as  every  thing 
will  turn  upon  that,  we  still  inquire,  in  a  preliminary  way, 
what  we  mean  by  a  suitable  observance  of  the  Sabbath. 
That  the  first  day  of  the  week  will  continue  to  be  dis- 
tinguished in  some  way,  cannot  be  doubted  ;  but  no  one 
can  suppose  that  this,  of  itself,  would  secure  the  proposed 
end.     If  we  would  receive  practical  benefit  from  the  Sab- 


494 

bath,  we  must  do  by  it  as  we  do  by  any  thing  else  which 
we  put  to  a  practical  test — we  must  use  it  for  the  end  for 
which  it  was  made.  The  day  must  not  be  set  apart  for 
idleness  or  vice,  but  must  be  a  Sabbath,  kept  in  the  man- 
ner and  for  the  purpose  designated  by  God. 

Respecting  this  purpose  of  the  Sabbath,  and  the  manner 
in  which  it  ought  to  be  kept,  I  know  there  are  different 
opinions  ;  but  if  its  purpose  can  be  ascertained,  the  man- 
ner of  keeping  it  must  be  also,  since  any  manner  would 
be  suitable  which  would  accomplish  that  purpose.  If  the 
Sabbath  was  given  solely  with  reference  to  the  physical 
well-being  of  man,  then  any  mode  of  keeping  it  which 
should  secure  physical  rest  would  be  suitable.  If  it  was 
given  to  man  as  needing  amusement ;  or  such  cultivation 
of  the  social  affections  as  is  found  in  friendly  visits,  and 
in  dinner  parties  ;  or  as  needing  the  relaxation  there  is  in 
idling  or  sauntering  abroad,  or  in  reading  novels  and  light 
literature, — then  any  mode  of  observing  it  will  be  suitable 
which  will  secure  these  ends.  But  if  the  Sabbath  was 
given  to  man  as  having  a  religious  nature,  and  derives  its 
chief  significance  and  obligation,  its  beauty  and  its  gran- 
deur, from  the  relations  it  implies  between  man  as  an  im- 
mortal and  an  accountable  being,  and  that  God  who  made 
him,  and  redeemed  him,  and  will  judge  him  at  the  last, 
— then  will  it  be  suitably  observed  only  as  it  is  observed 
religiously — in  the  contemplation  of  those  relations,  and 
in  preparation  for  an  immortal  life. 

But  on  this  point,  can  any  one  doubt,  who  looks  at  the 
moral  state  of  man  as  related  to  a  holy  heaven,  or  at  such 
passages  of  the  word  of  God  as  I  have  chosen  for  my  text  ? 
In  this  passage  we  not  only  find  national  blessings  pro- 
mised in  connection  with  the  Sabbath,  but  a  specification, 
most  beautiful  and  full,  of  that  manner  of  observing  it 
with  which  alone  these  blessings  can  be  fully  connected. 
Here  man  is  plainly  regarded  wholly  as  a  moral  and  a  re- 
ligious being.     It  is  supposed  that  he  has,  and  may  pro- 


496 

perly  have,  pleasures  and  interests  of  other  kinds ;  but  these 
are  to  be  held  in  abeyance,  and  the  day  is  to  be  devoted 
to  honoring  God  in  those  duties  of  which  he  is  the  imme- 
diate object,  and  to  the  enjoyments  which  flow  from  a 
contemplation  of  his  holy  and  glorious  character,  and  of 
our  relations  to  him.  Men  are  not  to  do  their  own  ways, 
or  find  their  own  pleasure,  or  speak  their  own  words. 
The  meaning  of  these  expressions  can  hardly  be  mistaken, 
and  I  leave  them  without  comment,  to  be  interpreted  by 
the  consciences  of  those  who  are  disposed  to  a  lax  obser- 
vance of  the  day.  These  parts  of  the  text  are  negative 
and  prohibitory,  and  present  that  aspect  of  the  Sabbath  in 
which  the  world  generally  view  it.  They  regard  it  as  a 
species  of  lent,  on  which  the  meats  of  worldly  enjoyment 
are  to  be  abstained  from,  only  that  they  may  be  devoured 
the  more  greedily  the  rest  of  the  week.  Hence  it  seems 
to  them  a  dull,  tedious,  unprofitable  day.  They  are  at  a 
loss  what  to  do  with  its  hours,  and  exclaim  with  some  of 
old,  "  When  will  the  Sabbath  be  gone,  that  we  may  set 
forth  wheat !  "  But  the  same  principle  is  applied  here 
that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  Christian  self-denial, 
which  is  always  the  denial  of  an  inferior  part  of  our 
nature  for  the  sake  of  that  which  is  higher.  Men  are  not 
commanded  to  withdraw  themselves  from  their  ordinary 
business,  and  pleasures,  and  courses  of  thought,  that  they 
may  pass  into  a  state  of  vacuity,  or  as  a  penance  ;  but  for 
the  purpose  of  meeting  the  great  and  essential  wants  of 
man  as  at  once  a  social  and  a  religious  being,  and  of  rising 
into  a  region  of  higher  and  purer  enjoyment.  There  are 
great  positive  duties  to  be  performed,  and  high  pleasures 
to  be  enjoyed ;  and  no  Sabbath  is  ever  truly  kept,  except 
in  the  performance  of  these  duties  and  in  the  enjoyment 
of  these  pleasures.  "  If  thou  turn  away  thy  foot  from  the 
Sabbath,  from  doing  thy  pleasure  on  my  holy  day  ;  and 
call  the  Sabbath  a  delight,  the  holy  of  the  Lord,  honora- 
ble ;  and  shalt  honor  hirq^ — then  shalt  thou  delight  thyself 
in  the  Lord." 


496 

These  views  do  not  seem  to  me  to  need  the  sanction 
of  human  authority  ;  but  perhaps  it  will  commend  them  to 
some  who  hear  me,  to  find  them  adopted  by  a  distin- 
guished novelist  and  man  of  the  world.  *'  If  we  believe," 
says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "in  the  divine  origin  of  the  com- 
mandment, the  Sabbath  is  instituted  for  the  express  pur- 
poses of  religion.  The  time  set  apart  is  the  '  Sabbath  of 
the  Lord ; '  a  day  on  which  we  are  not  to  work  our  own 
works,  or  think  our  own  thoughts.  The  precept  is 
positive,  and  the  purpose  clear.  For  our  eternal  benefit 
a  certain  space  of  every  week  is  appointed,  which,  sacred 
from  all  other  avocations  save  those  imposed  by  necessity 
and  mercy,  is  to  be  employed  in  religious  duties.  The 
Roman  Catholic  church,  which  lays  so  much  force  on 
observances  merely  ritual,  may  consistently  suppose,  that 
the  time  claimed  is  more  than  sufficient  for  the  occasion, 
and  dismiss  the  peasants,  when  mass  is  over,  to  any 
game  or  gambol  which  fancy  may  dictate  ;  leaving  it 
with  the  priests  to  do,  on  behalf  of  the  congregation, 
what  further  is  necessary  for  the  working  out  of  their 
salvation.  But  this  is  not  Protestant  doctrine,  though  it 
may  be  imitated  by  Protestant  churches."* 

Having  thus  shown  that  the  perpetuity  of  free  institu- 
tions depends  on  their  purity,  and  stated  what  we  mean 
by  the  suitable  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  I  now  proceed 
to  show,  first,  that  such  an  observance  of  this  day  will 
infallibly  secure  the  purity  and  consequent  permanence  of 
free  institutions ;  and  secondly,  that  without  the  Sabbath 
these  cannot  be  secured. 

And  that  the  Sabbath  thus  observed,  would  secure  the 
purity  and  consequent  permanence  of  free  institutions, 
appears,  first,  because  it  would  presuppose  a  right  state  of 
mind  towards  God. 

There  is  evidently  a  peculiarity  in  the  law  of  the  Sab- 

*  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Essays  of  Sir  Waller  Scott,   Bart       Collected  by 
Hinaself.     Vol.  iii.  p.  93,     Americaii  edition.      • 


497 

bath,  as  a  test  of  simple  obedience,  and  of  a  temper  gene- 
rally right  towards  the  divine  government.  For  obedience 
to  the  other  commandments,  reasons  may  be  found  in  the 
obvious  interests  of  society  and  of  the  individual ;  but  this 
is  so  far  from  being  the  case  with  the  Sabbath,  that  of  all 
the  ten  commandments  this  is  the  only  one  concerning 
which  the  question  has  been  raised  whether  it  was  moral 
or  positive.  This  is  not  because  the  connection  between 
the  violation  of  this  law  and  its  results  is  less  certain, 
but  that  it  is  less  immediate  and  obvious.  Its  sanctions 
do  not  come  directly,  as  when  one  puts  his  hand  into  the 
fire  ;  but  they  come  according  to  another  general  method 
in  God's  natural  government,  remotely,  as  in  the  effects 
upon  the  social  fabric,  of  intemperance,  or  licentiousness, 
or  revenge.  Of  these,  individual  instances  may  seem 
slight,  and  alarm  on  account  of  them  may  be  mocked  at  ; 
yet  through  them  there  will  gradually  steal  in  a  moral 
malaria  that  will  poison  and  blast  every  thing  noble. 
Thus  it  is  more  especially  with  the  Sabbath.  God  has 
infallibly  linked  cause  and  effect  here  ;  he  has  plainly  re- 
vealed that  connection  ;  yet  the  chain  itself  which  binds 
them  together  is  often  concealed,  or  revealed  only  to  the 
eye  of  faith.  Hence  it  is  that  Sabbath-breaking  is  what 
has  been  called  a  leading  sin ;  it  is  the  point  at  which 
men  naturally  break  away  from  God ;  and  when  that  is 
fully  done,  nothing  can  restrain  them  from  any  crime, 
but  the  absence  of  temptation  or  the  fear  of  detection. 
Under  these  circumstances,  let  an  individual  devote  the 
Sabbath  to  religious  duties,  public  and  private,  honoring 
God  and  delighting  himself  in  him,  and  he  will  show  that 
regard  to  the  principle  of  duty,  as  such,  which  will  make 
him  a  good  citizen — a  pillar  of  strength  to  free  institu- 
tions. He  who  thus  walks  humbly  with  his  God,  will  do 
justly  and  love  mercy. 

I  observe  secondly,  that   such  a  mode  of  keeping   the 
Sabbath  would  insure  the  purity  and  consequent  perma- 
63 


498 

nence  of  free  institutionSj  from  its  effect  upon  the  intellect 
of  the  community. 

It  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  that  Christ  originated,  in 
inseparable  connection  with  the  Sabbath,  the  first  great 
and  permanent  system  of  popular  instruction  that  the 
world  had  ever  known.  He  was  himself  ^'  a  teacher 
come  from  God,"  and  one  part  of  his  commission  to  his 
disciples  was,  that  they  should  teach  all  nations.  True 
the  object  of  Christ  w^as  higher  than  mere  instruction  ;  it 
was  persuasion  and  moral  renovation ;  but  since  the  moral 
and  religious  nature  are  reached  only  through  the  intel- 
lect, this  necessarily  implies  much  thought  and  much 
knowledge  on  subjects  that  naturally  stir  the  human  soul 
to  its  lowest  depths.  The  man  who  knows  the  only  true 
God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  he  has  sent,  and  who  seeks 
to  apply  practically  the  instructions  of  Christ,  may  be 
unable  to  read,  he  may  know  nothing  of  the  classification 
of  natural  objects  on  the  earth  or  in  the  heavens,  but  his 
intellect  cannot  be  dormant  or  unimproved.  He  has  a 
knowledge  that  is  life  eternal,  and  that  will  naturally 
draw  other  knowledge  within  its  range.  And  this  know- 
ledge is  to  be  made  accessible  to  all  classes  of  people. 
Constrained  by  the  love  of  Christ,  his  ministers  are  to  go 
out  into  the  highways  and  hedges  and  compel  them  to 
come  in.  Nor  in  doing  this  are  they  to  employ  declama- 
tion, or  rant,  or  fanaticism.  They  are,  as  Paul  did,  to 
reason  of  righteousness,  temperance,  and  a  judgment  to 
come ;  and  it  is  impossible  that  a  community  should  hear 
these  and  similar  topics  treated  earnestly  and  wisely  from 
week  to  week,  and  not  come  up  to  that  intellectual  eleva- 
tion which  would  fit  them  to  be  members  of  a  free  com- 
munity. An  individual  may,  indeed,  as  was  just  inti- 
mated, have  the  knowledge  of  God  and  of  salvation  with- 
out general  knowledge  ;  but  this  could  not  be  the  case 
with  a  community.  Wherever  there  is  an  enlightened 
ministry  and  the  instructions  of  the  Sabbath,  there,  as  all 


499 

experience  shows,  will  be  schools,  and  the  diffusion  of 
general  intelligence.  The  very  familiarity  with  the  Bible 
itself.  Its  history,  its  doctrines,  its  precepts,  its  poetry  and 
its  prophecies,  implied  in  a  suitable  observance  of  the  Sab- 
bath, would  preclude  the  possibility  of  an  ignorant  people. 
It  is  to  be  observed,  too,  that  all  knowledge  is  not,  accord- 
ing to  a  popular  fallacy,  equally  related  to  the  well-being 
of  free  institutions.  There  is  much  knowledge,  literary 
and  scientific,  that  may  be,  and  has  been,  the  instrument 
or  the  ornament  of  tyranny  and  vice.  But  the  knowledge 
drawn  from  the  Bible  and  the  Sabbath,  is  precisely  that 
which  is  adapted  to  stimulate  and  direct  the  moral  nature. 
It  is  that  knowledge  of  duties  and  of  rights  which  is 
essential  to  virtue,  and  which  is  needed  in  connection 
with  it  as  the  foundation  of  free  institutions.  Hence  a 
people  who  keep  the  Sabbath  as  did  our  Puritan  Fathers, 
attending  church  and  studying  their  Bibles,  not  only  may 
be,  but  will  be,  a  free  people.  No  power  on  earth  can 
enslave  them. 

But  thirdly,  such  an  observance  of  the  Sabbath  would 
insure  the  purity  of  free  institutions,  by  its  elevating,  and 
softening,  and  harmonizing  effect  upon  the  feelings  of  men. 

In  the  present  state  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  moral  nature 
of  man,  labor  is  necessary,  and  is  for  his  good  ;  but  in 
itself  it  is  an  evil,  and  as  stimulated  by  avarice,  or  as  en- 
forced by  necessity  or  by  power,  it  has  been  one  great 
cause  of  the  degradation  of  the  race.  Constantly  en- 
forced, it  must  deteriorate  alike  the  body  and  the  mind. 
But  let  now  this  burden  be  removed  one  day  in  seven,  as 
recognizing  not  merely  the  physical  wants  of  man,  but  his 
spiritual  capacities  and  his  higher  affinities,  and  who  can 
estimate  its  elevating  effect  ?  It  places  him  at  once  in  new 
relations.  Let  him,  if  need  be,  go  down  and  toil  six 
days  in  the  mine  of  worldly  gain, — it  may  be  his  duty, 
and  God  may  be  with  him  there, — but  on  the  seventh,  let 
him  come  up  and  breathe  a  purer  air,  and  dwell  in  the 


500 

sunshine  of  a  brighter  light.  Let  him  see  that  he  has 
interests  higher  than  those  of  earth,  and  that  God  has 
given  him  time  to  attend  to  those  mterests  which  no  man 
has  a  right  to  take  from  him,  and  he  feels  at  once  that  he 
is  recognized  as  a  child  of  God,  and  an  heir  of  immor- 
tality. The  very  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  then  becomes 
the  voice  of  God,  speaking  to  his  heart  of  that  sympathy 
which  he  feels  for  the  transient  and  feeble  races  of  time. 
He  rests,  after  the  example  of  God.  He  remembers  that 
Redeemer  who  on  this  day  rose  from  the  dead,  and  that 
heaven  to  which  he  has  ascended,  of  which  the  Sabbath 
is  at  once  a  type  so  beautiful  and  for  which  it  is  a  means 
of  preparation  so  necessary.  And  now  let  this  stillness  be 
broken  by  the  sound  of  the  Sabbath-bell ;  and  having  put 
off  the  garments  and  the  soil  of  labor,  let  him  go  up  with 
that  outward  purity,  and  that  seemliness  of  appearance, 
which  comport  with  the  purity  and  order  of  divine  wor- 
ship, and  let  him  unite  with  his  family,  and  neighbors, 
and  with  the  great  congregation,  in  the  services  of  God's 
house ;  and  there  is  something  in  this  outward  decorum, 
in  the  reverent  posture,  in  the  voice  of  prayer,  and  in  the 
notes  of  sacred  praise,  that  is  softening  and  humanizing, 
that  must  touch  the  feelings,  and  modify  the  associations, 
and  tend  to  remove  what  is  coarse  and  unseemly  in  the 
general  deportment.  Hence,  what  is  called  the  rabble,  is 
never  composed  of  those  who  habitually  attend  a  Protes- 
tant church;  and  where  all  should  do  this,  there  would  be 
no  rabble. 

It  is  however  with  the  harmonizing,  still  more  than 
with  the  elevating  and  softening  tendencies  of  the  Sab- 
bath, that  our  argument  has  to  do.  When  men  come 
together  as  the  children  of  a  common  parent,  bound  alike 
to  the  grave  and  to  the  judgment  seat ;  when  they  enter 
into  the  presence  of  that  God,  before  whose  eternity 
human  life  is  but  a  point,  before  whose  greatness  all 
human  distinctions  are  inappreciable,  upon  whose  bounty 


601 

all  are  equally  dependent,  and  whose  mercy,  as  sinners,  all 
equally  need, — they  must  seem  to  themselves  and  to  each 
other  to  stand  upon  the  level  of  one  common  humanity, 
and  there  will  be  a  powerful  tendency  to  produce  that 
feeling  of  brotherhood — of  equality  and  affection — which 
lies  at  the  foundation  of  our  institutions.  The  rich  and 
the  poor  meeting  together  under  circumstances  to  make 
them  feel  that  the  Lord  is  the  maker  of  them  all,  the 
rich  will  be  humbled,  and  the  brother  of  low  degree  will 
be  exalted ;  pride  and  envy  will  be  felt  to  be  equally  out 
of  place ;  hostile  and  rancorous  feelings  will  be  subdued  ; 
he  that  is  seeking  to  be  forgiven  his  debt  of  ten  thousand 
talents,  will  forgive  that  of  a  hundred  pence.  Surely  if 
the  Sabbath,  thus  kept,  had  been  devised  for  the  purpose, 
it  could  not  have  been  better  adapted  than  it  is  to  promote 
that  spirit  of  kindness,  of  equality,  of  mutual  forbearance 
and  regard,  upon  which  the  happy  working  of  free  insti- 
tutions so  much  depends. 

But  I  remark  again,  that  the  main  effect  of  the  Sab- 
bath, thus  observed,  upon  the  purity  and  consequent  per- 
petuity of  free  institutions,  is  to  be  found  in  its  bearing 
upon  the  public  conscience. 

This  is  the  point  on  which  every  thing  must  turn.  Let 
the  public  conscience  be  sensitive  and  enlightened,  and 
the  one  indispensable  condition  of  free  institutions  is  se- 
cured. This  would  involve  knowledge  enough  for  the 
successful  working  of  such  institutions  ;  but  without  this, 
they  can  be  sustained  by  no  amount  of  knowledge,  or 
refinement,  or  civilization.  But  the  public  conscience  is 
often  either  *seared,  or  perverted,  and  those  evils  which 
pervade  communities  under  the  sanction  of  such  a  con- 
science, are  the  last  to  be  seen  and  thrown  off  by  indi- 
vidual virtue.  And  not  only  may  a  seared  conscience  fail 
to  see  the  enormity  of  such  evils,  but  not  seldom  does  a 
perverted  conscience  take  sides  with  them  and  seek  to 
throw  over  them  the  banner  of  right.     This  has  been  so 


502 

with  war,  and  slavery,  and  polygamy,  and  duelling,  and 
the  sale  of  intoxicating  drinks.  This  is  so  now  with 
many  practices  sustained  even  in  the  church.  They 
would  certainly  disappear  before  a  sensitive  conscience 
fully  enlightened  by  the  word  of  God.  It  is  indeed  won- 
derful, since  the  conscience  is  that  faculty  in  man  which 
God  intended  should  control  all  the  others,  and  since  its 
actual  power  when  fully  awakened  is  so  great,  into  what 
torpor  and  imbecility  it  may  fall,  and  how  it  will  quietly 
permit,  and  share  in,  general  enormities  that  cry  to  the 
very  heavens.  But  in  proportion  as  the  public  conscience 
falls  into  this  state,  whatever  may  be  the  condition  of 
society  in  other  respects,  that  confidence,  public  and  pri- 
vate, which  is  its  only  cement,  will  infallibly  disappear, 
the  bonds  of  social  order  will  be  relaxed,  every  right  will 
be  endangered,  and  security  will  be  sought  at  the  expense 
of  liberty.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  let  the  conscience  be 
sensitive,  and  it  will  prevent  all  intentional  infraction  of 
right ;  let  it  be  enlightened,  and  it  will  prevent  all  viola- 
tion of  it  from  mistake.  It  will  necessarily  draw  public 
attention  to  every  abuse  in  the  customs  or  institutions  of 
society,  and  will  gradually  so  correct  public  opinion  as  to 
put  an  end  to  those  abuses.  The  law  of  reason  and  con- 
science in  the  individual,  will  take  the  place  of  the  law  of 
the  land  as  a  formal  precept  armed  with  an  external  force, 
and  society  will  become  instinct  with  a  principle,  which, 
in  securing  to  every  man  his  rights,  will  necessarily  se- 
cure to  him  the  largest  practicable  or  desirable  liberty. 

But  while  this  office  and  importance  of  the  conscience 
cannot  be  denied,  we  shall  look  in  vain  to  hmtian  wisdom 
for  any  institution  or  arrangement  designed  to  render  it 
enlightened  and  sensitive.  Hence  its  perversions  and 
torpor  among  heathen  nations,  and  the  striking  fact,  that, 
where  the  Sabbath  and  its  accompanying  light  has  not 
existed,  no  instance  can  be  pointed  out  in  which  an  es- 
tablished moral  evil  has  been  attacked  and  removed  on 


503 

moral  grounds.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  case  among  heathen 
nations  in  which  infanticide,  or  polygamy,  or  lying,  or 
slavery,  having  once  been  incorporated  into  the  institutions 
and  habits  of  a  nation,  has  been  attacked  and  eradicated 
through  the  native  light  and  power  of  the  conscience  of 
its  people  ?  Who  expects  to  hear  of  such  a  case  ?  But 
that  the  Sabbath  cannot  be  religiously  observed  by  a  peo- 
ple having  the  Bible  in  their  hands,  without  improving 
the  conscience,  is  obvious  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
case.  Religious  instructions  and  services,  both  in  public 
and  in  private,  elucidate  and  enforce  those  rights  of  God, 
and  those  duties  towards  him,  which  must  include  a  re- 
gard for  every  right  of  a  fellow  creature  which  he  has 
constituted,  and  a  performance  of  every  duty  which  he 
has  commanded.  The  Sabbath,  therefore,  is  God's  in- 
stitution for  training  the  moral  nature  of  man.  It  is  his 
appointed  school-day  for  the  race,  that  they  may  learn 
lessons  of  piety  and  moral  goodness;  and  what  sight 
could  be  more  beautiful  or  sublime  than  that  of  the  whole 
race  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  and  hearing  his  words  ? 
Then  should  they  know  that  highest  of  all  freedom  with 
which  the  truth  makes  men  free  ;  then  fraud  and  oppres- 
sion would  cease  ;  then  every  individual  Avould  understand 
his  duties  and  his  rights;  and  society,  presenting  thus,  from 
week  to  week,  an  even  surface  for  the  impress  of  divine 
truth,  would  be  enstamped  with  the  image  of  heaven. 

But  since  civil  freedom  is  so  great  and  high  a  result,  it 
may  seem  to  some  strange  that  it  should  be  secured  by 
an  observance  of  the  Sabbath  and  a  cultivation  of  the 
conscience,  in  which  that  result  is  not  directly  contempla- 
ted. But  this  is  only  in  accordance  with  a  great  principle, 
which  we  find  recognized  every  wh(^e  in  the  works  and 
in  the  word  of  God,  that  incidental  advantages  are  always 
best  secured  by  aiming  at  the  highest  possible  results. 
Thus,  in  a  plant,  he  who  should  obtain  the  blossoms  and 
the  fruit,  would  of  course  have  the  fragrance  and  the 


604 

leaves.  Thus,  physical  well-being  is  best  secured  by  that 
exercise  which  is  sought  for  a  further  end.-  Thus,  he  who 
seeks  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness, 
shall  have  all  other  things  added  unto  him.  Thus,  he  who 
would  find  his  life,  must  lose  it.  Thus,  it  is  always  the 
highest  expediency  to  do  right.  Thus,  when  the  Sabbath 
is  kept  holy,  every  physical  and  intellectual  advantage 
connected  with  it  is  most  fully  gained ;  and  thus,  when 
man  is  trained  to  become  a  citizen  of  heaven,  he  will  be 
best  fitted  to  be  a  good  citizen  in  a  free  republic.  It  is 
indeed  a  high  evidence  that  both  the  Sabbath  and  free 
institutions  are  from  God,  that  they  hold  the  same  relation 
to  something  beyond  themselves,  that  the  chrysalis  does 
to  the  winged  insect,  or  that  the  twilight  does  to  the  full 
day,  and  that  free  institutions  may  be  gradually  merged 
and  lost  in  the  perfect  government  of  God,  as  the  light  of 
the  Sabbath  may  fade  into  the  light  of  heaven. 

Having  thus  shown  that  a  suitable  observance  of  the 
Sabbath  would  insure  the  purity  and  permanence  of  free 
institutions,  it  only  remains  to  show,  as  was  proposed,  that 
without  the  Sabbath  these  cannot  be  secured. 

The  question  here  is  not,  whether  a  people  who  had 
never  known  the  Sabbath,  but  who  had  days  set  apart  for 
religious  observances,  and  in  whom  the  spirit  of  reverence 
should  be  cultivated  in  connection  with  a  false  religion, 
could  sustain  free  institutions  in  their  purity.  Probably 
the  very  imperfect,  and  turbulent,  and  comparatively  tran- 
sient freedom  of  Greece  and  Rome  would  be  all  that  could 
be  reached  under  such  circumstances.  But  the  question 
is,  whether  these  institutions  could  he  sustained  by  a  na- 
tion nominally  Chr^tian,  who  should  reject  the  Sabbath  ? 

And  here  we  must  keep  steadily  in  view  the  contrast 
between  free  institutions,  and  others,  as  related  to  moral 
culture  and  influence.  Let  the  forces  of  despotism  be 
well  organized,  and  every  thing  be  subject  to  minute  in- 


505 

spection  ;  and  a  certain  formal  and  unproductive  order — the 
order  of  stagnation  and  of  death — may  be  preserved  all  the 
better  for  the  absence  of  that  general  culture  and  elevation 
which  would  fit  man  for  freedom.  But  a  free  govern- 
ment, in  the  last  analysis,  is  self-government.  It  is  simply 
because  men  will  preserve  order,  and  respect  the  rights  of 
others,  of  their  own  accord,  that  they  do  not  need  soldiers 
to  govern  them.  But  if  external  force  be  removed,  there 
is  no  ground  of  security  but  the  power  of  that  invisible 
and  eternal  law  which  reveals  itself  in  the  conscience,  and 
makes  every  man  a  law  unto  himself  Make  this  its 
key-stone,  and  the  arch  will  not  only  support  itself, 
but  the  more  it  is  pressed,  the  firmer  it  will  be.  Hence 
every  thing  that  weakens  moral  restraint  tends  to  subvert 
free  institutions,  and  hence  we  affirm  that  such  institutions 
cannot  be  sustained  without  the  Sabbath. 

And  that  they  cannot,  will  appear,  first,  because  a  re- 
jected Sabbath  would  of  itself  become  a  powerful  means 
of  corruption.  Clearly  it  could  never  be  reclaimed  to  the 
same  uses  as  ordinary  days  ;  and  if  the  sanctions  and  re- 
straints of  religion  were  wholly  withdrawn,  it  would  be- 
come, for  the  whole  nation,  a  day  of  idleness  with  its  eon- 
sequent  temptations  and  vices.  It  would  be  the  day  for 
the  roll-call  and  general  muster  of  every  division  in  the 
army  of  sin,  and  would  do  more  to  undermine  free  insti- 
tutions than  all  the  other  days  of  the  week.  There  are 
portions  of  this  country  now,  where  there  is  far  more 
wickedness  on  the  Sabbath  than  on  any  other  day ;  and 
what  shall  prevent  this  city,  or  any  other  city,  from 
becoming  like  Paris,  where — and  I  wish  the  fact  to  be 
noted — a  more  numerous  police  is  always  abroad  on  the 
Sabbath. 

But  again,  the  same  thing  will  appear  from  the  peculiar 
relation  which  the  Sabbath  holds  to  many  of  those  means 
and  agencies  on  which  the  moral  elevation  of  the  com- 
munity depends.  This  is  not,  as  is  sometimes  said,  the 
64 


506 

relation  of  cause  to  effect,  or  of  the  foundation  to  the  su- 
perstructure ;  but  that  of  an  essential  condition,  without 
which  the  effect  could  not  take  place.  This  relation  does 
not  make  the  Sabbath  less  important,  but  it  may  prevent 
its  importance  from  being  seen.  An  end  can  no  more  be 
accomplished,  unless  certain  conditions  be  complied  with, 
than  it  can  unless  certain  causes  act :  and  between  these 
there  is  a  broad  distinction.  The  cause  of  the  ignition  of 
powder  is  the  spark,  its  condition  is  that  the  powder  be 
dry.  The  cause  of  the  movement  of  the  ship  is  the  wind, 
its  condition  is  that  it  should  be  afloat.  The  cause  of  the 
falls  of  Niagara  is  gravitation,  its  condition  is  the  fluidity 
of  the  water.  If  some  Archimedes  were  to  move  the 
world,  the  cause  would  be  the  force  applied,  the  condi- 
tion, a  place  where  he  might  stand.  Of  itself,  the  condi- 
tion can  do  nothing,  and  it  may  be  as  essential  to  evil  as 
to  good.  The  ocean  may  be  there  and  no  ship  float  upon 
it,  or  the  ship  may  bear  the  black  flag  of  the  pirate ;  still 
without  the  ocean  as  a  condition,  we  could  not  have  the 
wealth  and  benefits  of  commerce  ;  without  a  place  to  stand 
on,  the  world  can  never  be  moved. 

Now  it  is  back,  among  the  great  essential  conditions  of 
moral  well-being,  that  God  has  placed  the  Sabbath.  It 
is  as  the  soil  to  vegetation ;  it  is  the  place  where  we  must 
stand  to  move  the  moral  world ;  and  without  it  the  wants 
of  man  as  at  once  a  social  and  a  religious  being  cannot  be 
met.  Destroy  the  Sabbath— and  there  can  be  no  stated 
and  public  recognition  of  God,  and  communities  would 
never  unite  their  sympathies  before  him  as  the  children  of 
one  common  parent.  Public  worship,  with  all  its  eleva- 
ting and  purifying  associations,  would  cease.  The  pulpit 
would  be  silenced  ;  revivals  of  religion  would  be  unknown; 
every  Sabbath  school  and  Bible  class  in  Christian  and  in 
heathen  lands  would  be  disbanded  ;  Christian  instruction 
in  families  would  be  diminished  or  cease  altogether  ;  those 
great  benevolent  institutions,  whose  interests  are  linked  in 


507 

with  the  Sabbath  and  are  cherished  chiefly  in  connection 
with  it,  would  languish  and  die  ;  and  every  obstacle  would 
be  removed  to  the  setting  in  of  one  unbroken  tide  of 
worldliness  and  of  ungodliness. 

Has  the  true  place  of  the  Sabbath  now  been  assigned 
to  it  ?  If  so,  I  may  observe  again,  that  free  institutions 
cannot  be  preserved  without  it,  because  the  rejection 
of  the  Sabbath  would  be  virtually  a  rejection  of  God 
himself. 

It  is  very  much  from  its  recognition  of  the  Christian 
Sabbath,  that  our  government  is  known  as  a  Christian 
government.  Let  legislative  bodies  sit,  and  judicial  pro- 
cesses go  on,  on  the  Sabbath  as  on  other  days — and  the 
chief  bond  which  connects  the  government  with  the 
Bible  and  with  the  Christian  religion  would  be  sundered. 
Such  a  course  would  be,  and  it  would  be  so  regarded  by 
Christendom,  a  national  rejection  of  the  Christian  religion 
and  of  the  authority  of  the  God  of  the  Bible.  But — to 
say  nothing  of  special  judgments  which  would  assuredly 
come — no  dream  can  be  wilder  than  that  of  the  possibility 
of  free  institutions  among  a  people  who  should,  either 
nationally  and  in  form,  or  by  silent  acquiescence,  reject 
the  authority  of  God.  "  Of  all  the  dispositions  and  habits 
which  lead  to  political  prosperity,"  says  Washington, 
"religion  and  morality  are  indispensable  supports."  Again 
he  says,  "  Let  us  with  caution  indulge  the  supposition, 
that  morality  can  be  maintained  without  religion.  What- 
ever may  be  conceded  to  the  influence  of  refined  educa- 
tion on  minds  of  peculiar  structure,  reason  and  experience 
both  forbid  us  to  expect  that  national  morality  can  prevail 
in  exclusion  of  religious  principle."  This  would  not  only 
remove  all  restraint  now  connected  with  the  idea  of  God, 
but — what  would  be  equally  fatal — all  the  attraction  and 
excitement  and  high  assimilative  influence  by  which  alone 
man  can  reach  his  true  end.  If  the  current  of  human 
life  is  to  flow  evenly,  it  must  move  on  and  connect  itself 


508 

with  God  and  with  eternity.  The  infinite  alone  is  its 
ocean  ;  and  when  it  feels  the  attraction  of  this,  then  its 
water  is  clear,  and  flowers  spring  up  along  the  banks. 
But  let  infidelity  cast  a  dam  across  these  waters,  and  they 
will  stagnate  and  set  back,  and  the  surface  of  society  will 
become  a  moral  morass,  breeding  pestilence  and  death. 
Here  is  no  middle  ground.  The  rejection  by  a  moral 
being  of  his  essential  good,  necessitates  the  choice  of 
essential  evil.  Man  is  not  as  a  tree,  which  a  Chinese 
gardner  can  dwarf  without  deforming.  The  immortal 
energies  will  well  up,  and  if  they  do  not  flow  in  right 
channels,  they  must  in  those  that  are  wrong.  Wherever 
there  are  capacities  groping  in  vain  for  their  object,  or 
there  is  the  sad  consciousness  of  baffled  energy  setting 
back  upon  itself,  there  will  be  either  some  form  of  melan- 
choly, or  the  recklessness  of  vice.  Hence  the  rejection 
of  God  not  only  does  violence  to  the  dictates  of  an  en- 
lightened understanding,  but  to  those  intuitive  convic- 
tions belonging  to  the  very  nature  of  a  rational  and  moral 
being,  through  which,  far  rather  than  by  his  understanding, 
man  is  linked  to  the  divine  government,  and  from  the 
operation  of  which,  however  perverted,  his  nature  must 
ever  be  essentially  religious.  But  to  suppose,  when  vio- 
lence is  thus  done  to  the  nature  of  man  in  its  very  sanc- 
tuary— when  the  sanctions  of  obligation,  and  the  central 
idea  that  makes  of  the  race  one  family  having  a  common 
Father,  are  removed — that  men  will  ever  respect  the  rights 
or  fulfil  the  duties  implied  in  free  institutions,  is  utter 
folly.  Every  form  of  evil  must  follow  the  rejection  of  God. 
I  observe  once  more,  that  the  necessity  of  the  Sabbath 
to  free  institutions,  may  be  seen  from  the  character  and 
sources  of  the  opposition  that  has  been  arrayed  against  it. 
Here  Pilate  and  Herod  become  friends.  Here  infidelity 
and  formalism,  despotism  and  anarchy,  join  hands.  The 
Sabbath  elevates  man,  but  it  has  ever  been  the  policy  of 
civil,  and  especially  of  spiritual  despotism,  to  prevent  that 


509 

true  intellectual  and  moral  elevation  which  would  render 
the  people  capable  of  liberty,  by  amusing  them  with  shows 
and  sports,  and  by  giving  them  license  to  indulge  them- 
selves in  their  lower  and  vicious  propensities.  Hence  the 
enormous  expense  lavished  by  the  Roman  emperors  upon 
theatres  and  gladiatorial  shows.  Hence  the  present  car- 
nivals and  shows  at  Rome,  and  the  fact  that  the  Sabbath 
is  nowhere  kept  holy  where  poj)ery  is  prevalent.  It  can- 
not be.  This  policy  of  those  who  keep  them  in  subjec- 
tion, the  people  do  not,  in  general,  perceive.  They  are 
both  pleased  and  degraded  by  the  license  granted  them  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  their  intellectual  and  moral  natures 
are  so  controlled,  that  they  either  become  infidels  or  super- 
stitiously  and  fanatically  attached  to  forms.  It  is  as  it 
was  of  old.  "  The  prophets  prophesy  falsely,  and  the 
priests  bear  rule  by  their  means,  and  my  people  love  to 
have  it  so."  Ah,  yes !  and  well  might  the  prophet  add, 
''  and  what  will  ye  do  in  the  end  thereof?  "  But  though 
the  people  have  generally  fallen  into  this  snare,  there  is 
yet  one  instance  in  which  they  did  not,  and  the  temper 
manifested  by  their  civil  and  ecclesiastical  rulers  showed 
how  vital  they  felt  this  point  to  be.  During  the  progress 
of  the  English  reformation,  the  true  place  of  the  Sabbath 
began  to  be  more  clearly  seen,  and  the  contest  between 
the  enemies  and  the  friends  of  civil  liberty  often  turned 
upon  this.  Indeed  it  is  remarkable  that  God  intrusted  the 
standard  of  true  liberty  only  to  the  hands  of  those  who 
had  already  learned  to  honor  his  Sabbaths.  At  one  time 
even  the  justices  of  the  peace,  and  the  judges  of  the  courts, 
attempted  to  suppress  the  wakes  and  sports  which  had 
been  prevalent  in  the  times  of  popery.  This  was  resisted 
by  the  higher  authorities  as  interfering  with  ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction.  The  justices  then  ''signed  an  humble  pe- 
tition to  the  king,"  in  which  they  declare  that  "tliese 
revels  had  not  only  introduced  a  great  profanation  of  the 
Lord's  day,  but  riotous  tipplmg,  contempt  of  authority, 


510 

quarrels,  murders,  Sic,  and  were  very  prejudicial  to  the 
peace,  plenty,  and  good  government  of  the  country,"  and 
therefore  they  pray  that  they  may  be  suppressed.  This 
petition  was  not  regarded,  and,  says  the  historian,  "to 
encourage  these  disorderly  assemblies  more  effectually, 
archbishop  Laud  put  the  king  upon  republishing  his 
father's  declaration  of  the  year  1618,  concerning  lawful 
sports  to  be  used  on  Sundays  after  divine  service,  which 
was  done  accordingly."  This  declaration  the  ministers 
were  required  to  read  from  the  pulpit,  and  those  who 
refused,  as  many  did,  were  turned  out  of  their  places. 
"  How  many  hundred  godly  ministers  in  this  and  other 
dioceses,"  says  a  writer  of  that  day,  "  have  been  sus- 
pended from  their  ministry,  sequestered,  driven  from  their 
livings,  excommunicated,  prosecuted  in  the  high  commis- 
sion, and  forced  to  leave  the  kingdom,  for  not  publishing 
this  declaration,  is  experimentally  known  to  all  men." 
Riotous  tippling  and  profaneness  were  nothing,  but  a 
conscientious  desire  to  honor  the  Sabbath  could  not  be 
tolerated.  Here  we  see  the  opposition  to  the  Sabbath,  of 
despotism  and  formalism  ;  the  opposition  of  infidelity  and 
anarchy  showed  itself  in  the  French  revolution.  Infidelity 
is  of  course  opposed  to  the  Sabbath  ;  and,  so  far  as  I  know, 
non-resistants  and  no-government  men  now  are  almost 
universally  opposed  to  the  Sabbath,  and  make  it  the  object 
of  their  special  and  virulent  attacks.  Now  when  we  see 
the  battle  raging  so  often  and  so  hotly  around  this  battle- 
ment on  the  walls  of  freedom,  we  may  estimate  its  im- 
portance in  the  eyes  of  the  enemy.  They  feel  that  if 
they  can  gain  this,  their  triumph  will  be  sure. 

Is  it  true,  then,  that  the  Sabbath,  religiously  observed, 
holds  such  a  place  in  that  circle  of  agencies  on  which  the 
well-being  of  a  free  people  must  depend,  that  it  would 
certainly  secure  to  us  the  unspeakable  blessings  of  that 
fair  inheritance  which  has  come  to  us  through  the  suffer- 


511 

ings  and  blood  of  our  Fathers  ?  Is  it  true,  that  it  must  be 
a  pillar  in  every  social  fabric  where  freedom  can  dwell, 
and  must  hold  such  a  relation  to  the  whole,  that  if  any 
Samson  of  infidelity  could  pluck  it  away,  the  whole  struc- 
ture would  come  down  in  ruins?  Then  are  we  appealed 
to,  by  every  consid(?ration  which  can  move  a  patriot  or  a 
Christian,  to  do  what  we  can  to  uphold  this  sacred  insti- 
tution. This  is  not,  as  many  seem  to  suppose,  an  institu- 
tion slightly  connected  with  the  other  arrangements  of 
God.  It  may  seem  so  at  first,  but  trace  its  connections 
and  you  will  find  it  inseparably  blending  with  all  the  ar- 
rangements of  God  for  the  elevation  and  well-being  of 
man.  Its  law  of  rest  is  enstamped  even  upon  the  physi- 
cal organization  of  all  beings  capable  of  labor,  whether  of 
body  or  of  mind ;  and  in  its  simplicity  and  variety  of 
adaptation,  like  the  air,  and  the  light,  and  the  water, 
it  bears  the  evident  impress  of  the  hand  of  God.  How 
simple  !  and  yet,  while  it  meets  the  wants  of  the  exhausted 
animal,  how  evidently  was  it  ''  made  for  man  "  in  all  con- 
ditions and  in  all  his  relations  !  How  perfectly  is  it  adapt- 
ed to  the  laboring  man  in  his  toil,  to  the  young  man  in 
his  temptations,  to  the  business  man  in  his  perplexities,  to 
the  scholar  in  his  exhausting  processes  of  thought,  and  to 
the  statesman  as  bearing  the  burdens  of  public  life  !  How 
is  it  adapted  to  families,  consecrating  home,  and  giving 
opportunity  for  family  instruction  ;  how  to  communities, 
as  the  individuals  composing  them  are  related  at  once  to 
each  other  and  to  God,  and  as  needing  opportunity  both 
for  private  and  public  devotion  !  How  does  it  blend  the 
social  and  the  religious  nature  of  man,  and  fit  him  for  a 
social  heaven  !  How  is  it  related  to  the  Bible,  as  a  book 
requiring  study,  and  so  time  for  study  !  How  does  it  con- 
nect man  with  the  past,  by  constantly  reminding  him  of 
that  great  event  which  it  commemorates  ;  how  with  the 
future,  by  its  glimpses  and  foretastes  of  that  heaven  which 
it  typifies  !  Kept  as  God  commanded,  it  would  improve  the 


512 

individual  man,  physically,  intellectually,  morally.  In  his 
social  relations,  it  would  secure  purity  and  harmony;  in  his 
civil  relations,  security  and  freedom.  It  would  unite  man 
to  man,  and  all  men  to  God.  Surely,  whatever  he  may 
intend,  he  who  fights  against  the  Sahbath,  fights  against 
the  best  interests  of  his  race,  and  against  God  himself. 
Surely  this  Association  is  engaged  in  a  work  of  piety  and 
of  patriotism  in  making  known  the  will  of  God  on  this 
subject. 

This  connection  of  the  Sabbath  with  civil  liberty,  and 
with  every  earthly  interest  of  man,  I  would  especially 
urge,  at  this  point,  upon  the  attention  of  civilians  and 
statesmen.  Let  them  understand  it,  and  if  not  as  religious 
men,  yet  as  patriots,  they  will  honor  this  day,  from  the 
honest  convictions  of  their  own  hearts  ;  let  the  people  un- 
derstand it,  and  they  will  see  to  it  that  no  man,  what- 
ever may  be  his  talents  or  his  party,  shall  have  their 
favor,  who  will  disregard  an  institution  so  vital  to  their 
welfare. 

And  this  leads  me  to  say  finally,  that  while  the  Sab- 
bath is  thus  adapted  to  man,  at  all  times  and  in  all 
circumstances,  there  is  much  in  our  present  position, 
as  related  to  free  institutions  and  to  the  hopes  of  the 
world,  which  calls  upon  us  for  special  interest  in  this 
cause.  While,  for  reasons  already  indicated,  there  are 
always  peculiar  temptations  to  violate  the  Sabbath,  and 
we  are  to  expect  at  this  point  the  first,  and  not  the 
least  violent  onset  of  the  enemies  of  freedom  and  of  re- 
ligion, there  is  also  much  in  the  circumstances,  especially 
of  our  western  and  southern  population — scattered  as  they 
are,  with  imperfect  means  of  education,  and  little  organ- 
ized into  societies — which  must  tend  strongly  to  the  dese- 
cration of  this  day.  There  is,  too,  pouring  in  upon  us 
with  prodigious  and  unexampled  rapidity,  a  foreign  popu- 
lation not  trained  in  the  school  of  freedom,  and  if  they 
regard  the  Sabbath  at  all,  having  generally  low  views 


613 

respecting  it.  This  population  is  of  different  nations,  and 
languages,  and  sects,  and  being  clothed  at  once  with  politi- 
cal power,  and  spread  over  the  whole  breadth  of  the  land, 
it  must  enter,  as  a  modifying  if  not  a  distracting  element, 
into  all  our  political  and  religious  combinations  and  move- 
ments. This  heterogeneous  mass  is  taking  possession  of 
a  country  of  exhaustless  fertility  and  of  boundless  re- 
sources, and  is  sitting  down  under  a  government  where 
there  can  be  no  effectual  barrier  between  the  people  and 
their  immediate  will.  If  now  we  add  to  these  character- 
istics peculiar  to  this  country,  those  of  the  age — the  gen- 
eral activity  of  mind,  the  triumphs  of  science  and  inven- 
tion, the  power  of  the  press,  the  wonderful  means  of 
■communication,  and  the  facility  with  which  vast  masses 
may  be  concentrated  at  particular  points — we  must  feel 
that  the  elements  are  combining  which  shall  prepare  the 
way  for  scenes  such  as  this  world  has  never  witnessed. 
At  present,  the  urgency  of  want,  the  facilities  for  enter- 
prise, the  newness  and  vastness  of  the  country,  may 
■conduct  harmlessly  off  the  elements  of  evil.  But  when 
the  population  shall  become  dense,  and  its  tide  refluent, 
numbering,  as  it  soon  must,  its  hundred  millions ;  when 
wealth  and  the  arts  of  luxury  shall  be  increased  ;  then, 
what  complexity  of  interests !  what  prizes  for  ambition  ! 
what  means  of  corruption !  Then,  let  the  political 
heavens  become  black,  let  the  storms  of  passion  be 
raging,  and  the  waves  of  faction  be  heaving  and  tossing 
over  this  mighty  ocean ;  and  there  is  no  human  power 
that  can  prevent  the  bark  of  our  liberties  from  foundering 
and  going  down.  Then  will  the  sun  of  the  brightest 
morning  that  ever  dawned  upon  the  earth  set  in  storms 
and  in  blood.  No !  no  human  power  can  prevent  this. 
If  prevented  at  all,  it  must  be  by  that  God,  "  which  by 
his  strength  setteth  fast  the  mountains ;  being  girded 
with  power  :  which  stilleth  the  noise  of  the  seas,  the  noise 
of  their  waves,  and  the  tumult  of  the  people."  Our  hope 
65 


514 

is  in  Him,  in  his  word,  in  his  ordinances,  in  his  Sabbath. 
Let  God  be  honored  in  these,  and  all  will  be  well.  Let 
the  Sabbath  sun,  as  he  returns,  look  down  upon  these 
multitudes  going  up,  over  the  hills  of  New  England,  and 
the  prairies  of  the  West,  to  worship  together — to  listen  to 
the  voice  of  God,  to  unite  in  prayer,  and  in  sacred  praise — 
and  the  purity  and  permanence  of  free  institutions  will 
be  secured.  The  ^'people  shall  be  all  righteous,"  and 
"shall  inherit  the  land  forever." 


RECENTLY    PUBLISHED    BY  T.   R.   MARVIN, 

LECTURES  Ox\  THE  EVIDENCES  OF  CHRISTIANITY, 

BEFORE    THE    LOWELL    INSTITUTE, 
Jaiiuary,  1844. 

BY  MARK  HOPKINS,  D.  D., 

PRESIDENT      OF      WILLIAMS     COLLEOB. 


"  This  has  been  to  US  a  delig-htful  book.     There  is  a  simplicity  and  a  freshness 

about  it  which,  in  our  overwrought  age,  produce  a  sort  of  surprise Every 

page  bespeaks  the  thinker  and  the  scholar If  we  were  desired  to  characterize 

the  work  in  a  single  word,  that  word  should  be  clearness.  We  have  never  hesitated 
for  an  instant  as  to  the  meaning  of  a  single  sentence.  In  saying  this,  we  say  enough 
to  condemn  the  book  with  a  certain  school.  It  is  however  the  highest  praise  we  can 
give  to  logic  or  to  rhetoric.  The  author  has  so  cultivated  the Tiabit  of  looking  at 
things  in  broad  daylight,  that  his  representations  offer  nothing  to  divert  or  distraci  the 
mind.  The  necessary  result  is  beauty  of  diction;  the  style  is  achromatic.  There  is 
reason  to  fear  that  a  way  of  writing,  exactly  the  reverse  of  this,  will  become  that  of 
our  day." — Princeton  Review. 

"  The  argument,  which  extends  over  a  very  wide  compass,  and  presents  almost 
innumerable  points  of  interest  to  the  mind  of  a  careful  inquirer,  is  here  as  happily 
condensed  as  we  have  ever  seen  it,  and  is  presented  in  language  that  cannot  fail  to 
interest  those  who  undertake  to  read  this  volume.  The  subject,  though  one  of  so 
great  importance  to  the  world  and  to  individuals,  is  not  always  deemed  of  sufficient 
interest  to  induce  many  to  a  serious  examination  of  it;  they  are  probably  deterred  by 
the  minuteness  of  detail  that  gathers  around  many  parts  of  the  subject,  and  by  the 
unattractive  style  in  which  some  writers  clothe  their  thoughts  concerning  it.  We 
discover  nothing  of  this,  however,  in  these  lectures;  indeed,  we  were  surprised,  as 
we  followed  the  author  from  one  chapter  to  another,  by  the  gracefulness  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  language,  and  the  beauty  and  force  of  his  illustrations,  and  were  rather 
sorry  when  we  had  hnished  the  book  that  there  was  not  more  of  it."' — Boston  Courier. 

"  None  who  heard  these  lectures  need  be  told  that  they  are  most  valuable.  There 
is  a  freshness  and  originality  about  them  which  could  not  be  expected  in  connection 
with  so  trite  a  subject  as  that  on  which  they  treat.  They  are  the  work  of  a  clear, 
discriminating  mind  ;  a  mind  capable  of  so  clearly  seeing  and  so  fully  coinprehcnding 
a  subject,  as  to  be  without  any  temptation  to  obscurity  ui  expression.  Dr.  Hopkins 
knows  his  own  thoughts,  (which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  every  distinguished  man,) 
and  in  language  at  once  clear  and  simple,  direct  and  chaste,  expresses  these 
thoughts."  ....  "We  will  only  add,  that  we  know  of  no  work  better  adapted  to 
satisfy  any  candid  and  inquiring  skeptic,  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian  system,  or  to 
strengthen  the  believer,  in  the  full  beJief  of  Christianity,  than  the  one  now  before 
us." — Boston  Daily  Traveller. 

"The  ripest  fruits  of  one  of  the  most  vigorous  and  cultivated  minds  of  the  age  are 
here  presented  for  the  gratification  and  the  instruction  of  the  the  world.  Calm,  clear 
and  convincing  in  argument,  beautiful  in  illustration  and  powerful  in  appeal,  these 
lectures  will  be  read  as  a  masterly  and  most  useful  work  by  which  the  Christian 
system  is  successfully  defended." — New  York  Observer. 

"In  purity  of  style,  clearness  and  force  of  argument,  kindness  and  true  magna- 
nimity of  spirit,  as  well  as  in  marked  originality  of  thought,  they  are  hardly  to  be 
surpassr.d  by  any  of  tht^  iiolilc  defences  ot  Christianity  wuh  which  our  literature  is 
supplied." — ]\'ew  York  Evafgclist. 


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